


No rest for the wicked

by Umerue



Series: A Series of Unfortunate Events - Roshan Lavellan [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: AU, Angst and Humor, Cultists, Dark Crack, F/M, Gen, Ghosts, Not Beta Read, Post-Veil world, Romance, Well of Sorrows, relationships are hard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 05:48:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 38
Words: 117,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5117726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umerue/pseuds/Umerue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roshan Lavellan thought that everything would be fine after she stopped dying all the time, freed herself from Mythal's slavery and survived the fall of the Veil. She thought that the most challenging thing in her life would be putting up with her lover's insufferable twin, Falon'Din, who had some serious jealousy issues about sharing his brother.</p><p>Sadly, Roshan was wrong. Her ex-boyfriend had became a dead priest speaking inside her head and offering snarky comments whenever she tried to have sex with Dirthamen, there were three different cults wanting to kill her, and even the bears of Thedas were out to get her. Her father-in-law was busy decorating nursery for fictional grandchildren, and Falon'Din was pining after Divine Victoria while trying to take over the world to impress her.</p><p>She really should not have drunk from the Well of Sorrows.</p><p>AU. Updates on Saturdays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Don't wear a nightgown when you leave the house

**Eight months after the Veil**

 

"Why love has to be so difficult?” Falon'Din asked, staring at the ceiling.  
"I wonder that too. Often.” Lavellan said snarkily as she tried to find a position where she would not fall off bed, but could keep a bit of space between herself and her boyfriend's foul-smelling brother who had once again taken over their bed. She could put up with Falon'Din normally, mostly because she had to. Falon'Din always slept sprawled like a starfish, and now he was drunk, too. It meant she would wake at least three or four times during a night when one of his limbs accidentally hit her on face.  
"What is it this time?” Dirthamen asked with divine patience.  
"It's father.” Falon'Din said. "He still did not invite Viv to dinner."  
"Maybe you just should give him time. Most families have hard time accepting relationships between different races--", Lavellan began.  
"Give him time!” Falon'Din huffed. "He let you attend when you were nothing but a flayed skin made into armor!”  
Lavellan opened her mouth, suddenly unable to find words.  
"You should not have said that.” Dirthamen hissed to Falon'Din.  
"And now even you are balking at me! You! Your girlfriend is good enough for father, even though she's just squatting here, and Viv has a palace of her own and she's the head of entire religious organisation. Nobody understands me. Nobody loves me. Except Viv, and you deny her love for me.", Falon'Din wailed. "I'm so lonely!"  
"I think I'm going to sleep at Elgar’nan’s.", Lavellan said and took her pillow.  
"There you see, brother. Women. They leave a man, and life becomes a valley of lonely tears.” Falon'Din said with seriousness brought by extensive amounts of wine.  
"Yes. I can see that happening.” Dirthamen said dryly, pulling the covers up to his chin while he sulked.

Lavellan was yawning as she placed her hand against eluvian and stepped through, carrying her pillow under her arm. Fenedhis, she was tired. And more than a bit of upset about the armor thing. What had Dirthamen been thinking? She was not comfortable with a revelation she had been flayed and made into an armor. He should have told her. She shook her head as she crossed the short distance through Crossroads to mirror which led to Elgar’nan’s palace.  
“Good evening, Senris.” she nodded to sentinel who stood waiting by the mirror when she stepped through. “Is Elgar’nan still up?”  
“Yes. My lord would be pleased to see you, as always.” Senris told her, already opening the door towards library. He took her pillow with a practiced gesture and ushered her in.

Sometimes Lavellan felt like a fool when she ventured across Thedas wearing a nightgown and carrying a pillow like a da’len. But nobody ever asked any questions at Elgar’nan’s. He had given her a room in his palace soon after the Veil had gone down, explaining that she should consider it as her own.  
“Sometimes one needs some space, no matter how loving the relationship.” he had said lightly. “And I know both I and Dirthamen would prefer you’d have it somewhere safe.”

Safe, of course, was relative term coming from a man who had originally invited her to dinner and then killed her in the bathroom. But Veil had changed that, like so many other things. After Lavellan had killed Solas and warned the three Evanuris in time for them to escape Solas’ trap, Elgar’nan had decided that she was the best thing which had ever happened to his son. The complete reversal of his attitude had been a bit baffling at first, but Dirthamen assured her it was genuine, and Elgar’nan had been on his very best behaviour ever since.

The gesture of giving her a space of her own had been very nice. Even though Lavellan liked Dirthamen’s house, it was still his, and filled with his things during centuries of his long life. Handwoven Dalish blankets would have looked stupid on a bed built with magic and black wood, even if Lavellan found them comforting when she felt homesick and missed her clan. But missing her family was a sorrow which couldn’t really be shared, even though Dirthamen tried to understand. The life in a Dalish clan, always running from humans, was so far from his experiences that he didn’t quite get it.  
Lavellan mostly used her room when Falon’Din was being particularly insufferable. Like tonight. The nice, fluffy bed where nobody stank of cheap honeyed wine or made disturbing remarks had felt much more inviting than spending another sleepless night trying not to fall on the floor. It could have been bearable if Dirthamen would have slept in the middle. Or even if she could sleep in the middle. But no, Falon’Din always climbed between them and stayed there like a stubborn weed.

“You are up late, lethallan.” Elgar’nan greeted her. He was reading a book on the couch.  
“I just wanted to ask you something before I go to sleep.” Lavellan began carefully, sitting on the opposite end. “If you don’t mind.”  
“Of course I won’t.”, Elgar’nan replied, putting his book down. “Ask away.”  
“Tonight Falon’Din said that when I first came here, I was nothing but a flayed skin. Made into armor.” Lavellan said uncomfortably. “Would you know if it is... true?”  
“It is true.” Elgar’nan said. “It was not very successful family dinner, even though it was one of the more memorable ones. Dirthamen had just tried to lie to me how he didn’t have a lover, and then he was suddenly puking all over the table when Ghilan’nain’s new armor prototype was brought in.”  
Lavellan’s expression was still uneasy and far too serious to Elgar’nan’s liking, so he added:  
“Only recognisable part was the belt made from your hair.”  
“Ah.” Lavellan relaxed minimally. “That doesn’t sound too upsetting. I thought it would be something far worse.”  
“Why would you think that?” Elgar’nan queried.  
“Because... I don’t think Dirthamen could have been a king, or a god, without seeing and making some extremely unsavoury choices. I had a spymaster in Inquisition. Nobody can’t work in that profession without hardening considerably. And his temple was the one with creepy statues and dismembered high priest.” Lavellan said. “I have hard time making those two images match. Dirthamen as I know him and him as he must have been. I thought he would tell me if something made him upset. Not scolding Falon’Din for blurting it out while drunk.”  
She looked a bit too quiet, and Elgar’nan cursed inwardly. But he didn’t let it show, and smiled instead:  
“This is still new to him, lethallan.” he said gently. “He simply worries about upsetting you. And you are upset, are you not?”  
“Yes.” Lavellan admitted reluctantly. “I don’t like hearing about things I can’t remember.”  
“I have a copy of Dirthamen’s report somewhere here.” Elgar’nan offered. “You could read it, make things clear to yourself, and then forget about the whole thing. Maybe at breakfast?”  
“It would be good.” Lavellan said, looking relieved. She stood up, and as she walked past Elgar’nan, she bent to kiss his brow.  
“Thank you, Elgar’nan.”  
“I’ve told a dozen times you may call me father. You are my favourite of all prospective daughter-in-laws my sons have brought home.”  
“I’ve understood that the number of those is exactly one.” Lavellan noted with a quick grin.  
“Quality before quantity, dear girl. You’re still my favourite.” Elgar’nan decreed. “Now go to sleep.”  
“Good night, father.” she said with a smile, and left the room feeling much better.

As soon as she was gone, Elgar’nan fished a crystal from his pocket.  
“Dirthamen?” he asked sharply.  
“Yes? Is she fine?” his son didn’t sound happy at all. Someone was snoring loudly on the background.  
“I need a downplayed version of report on Taken Shape-armor. I promised it to her next morning.”  
There was short silence in the other end.  
“Falon’Din should not have blurted it out like that.” Dirthamen said. “Was she upset?”  
“Less than you think.” Elgar’nan told him. “But this is not how things are supposed to go between new lovers. She here and you there. I trust you know that, don’t you?”  
“I do know that.” an annoyed edge appeared in his son’s voice. “I’ll put Deceit to work. He’ll deliver the report to your people before morning.”  
“Good. I’ll send her back after breakfast.”

\--

 

Lavellan put down the report.  
“I don’t understand this.” she said with a frown. “All right, it’s gross to cut one’s body in separate parts and make an enchanted armor set, but the notes say I was already dead even before the process began. That would put Ghilan’nain behind Sylaise on yucky scale, and she plucked my nails out. Why would Dirthamen try to keep it secret when I’ve gotten through far worse things?”  
“Because you died while he thought you were safe and sound at his house.” Elgar’nan said, handing her a bowl of blue mousse. “Here, dear. The cook made it especially for you.”  
Lavellan took the offering eagerly.  
“Will you finally agree to give me the recipe for this?” she asked as she started eating. “It’s delicious.”  
“Of course not. I need to have my secrets.” Elgar’nan smiled. “But you can have some whenever you come to visit.”  
“The flavour is unique. A bit like royal elfroot, a bit like dawn lotus petals... It’s almost magical.” Lavellan said with a pleased expression as she finished her portion.  
“Fishing for information, daughter? I’m not telling.” Elgar’nan chuckled. “All you need to know that it’s good for you. An old family recipe. But you should go back home, now. I’ll see you on Saturday.”  
“Dareth shiral, father.” Lavellan gave a quick kiss on his cheek and left.

Her steps were light and she was ready to wrangle Falon’Din out of her bed. The colours in the Crossroads seemed brighter than usual, and Lavellan felt invigorated. She suspected that it might have something to do with Elgar’nan’s special desserts. No matter how hard she tried, she still had not been able to figure out the recipe, and it bugged her. Lavellan was busy trying to dissect the slightly sour, pleasant flavour when she suddenly heard a voice shouting to her. A dead man’s voice.  
“Duck, vhenan.” Solas commanded, and Lavellan threw herself on the ground without thinking.  
As her knees hit the coloured stones, she heard the sound of arrow whistling above her. Oh, damn. Lavellan was wearing nothing but a nightshirt, and pillow under her arm was not what a girl needed in an ambush. Instinctively, she cast a barrier, and started crawling towards the nearest eluvian. Lavellan was planning to take cover behind it, assess the situation and—  
“Oh, by Dread Wolf’s balls!” Lavellan screamed when the mirror closest to her rippled, and something big and hairy came through. It was a wolf, but somehow wrong, twisted. It was followed by another, and then another. The first one lifted its snout towards the sky, stood on two legs like a man, and howled.  
“Please stop cursing like that.” Solas’ voice in her ears was unhappy.  
“You are dead! Shut up and stop speaking inside my head!” Lavellan wanted to tear her hair. Why these things kept happening to her?  
Another arrow whistled through the air, and this time, it grazed her arm. Lavellan yelped, whirling around to see where it came from. She caught a glimpse of somebody tall behind another mirror near Elgar’nan’s. The stranger wore long, tattered robes and blank mask carved from wood, and there was a bow in his hands. She thought she saw a glimpse of striped high heel as the assailant began to run for his life.  
For a second, she was relieved and more than a bit surprised for sudden disappearance of her attacker, but when Lavellan heard the paws hitting the pavement, she realized she had forgotten something very important. The wolves.

“They are not normal wolves. Or even shapeshifters.” Solas pondered. “Do they have spikes on their back, vhenan?”  
“How in the Void would I know?” Lavellan shrieked as she ran as fast as she could. She felt something snapping at her heels, and she threw her pillow away, casting a Mind Blast to push back her enemies.  
“Look.”  
“If I look, I lose speed.” Lavellan pointed out, her breath coming ragged. “Dirthamen will never forgive me if I get eaten by wolves. He doesn’t care which species.”  
“Ah, Dirthamen.” Solas’ voice was neutral. So neutral that Lavellan could almost see the disapproval written all over his familiar face.  
“Yes! I know you disapprove. I can hear it. But let me tell you something, Solas, I don’t care whether you accept or not, because I’m happy, and I’ve moved on—“  
Lavellan had just turned around the corner to left. Dirthamen’s mirror was in the end of the row, normally a quiet five minute walk from Elgar’nan’s, but it was not going to happen this time.  
“The wolves don’t have spikes.” Lavellan said.  
“How do you know if you didn’t look?”  
“There are seven wolves around his mirror. And one of them is standing on two legs, wearing torn trousers.”  
“Werewolves.” Solas said grimly. “Don’t let them bite you, vhenan.”  
“How I’m supposed to keep that from happening?” Lavellan demanded. She looked behind her, where the group of five was starting to recover from mind blast. The group in front of her had seen her, and the two-legged one was pointing a hairy paw towards her, making series of odd noises and growls. They made no sense to her, but apparently the wolves understood, because they charged towards her.

Lavellan threw a wall of fire between her and the wolves coming from front, but the creatures didn’t act like normal wolves would have. They jumped over the wall of flames. Two of them fell short, and when their fur caught fire, they rolled on the ground like a human would do to smother flames. Lavellan stared at them. She had no weapons, no armor, and no proper fighting spells thanks to sheer unluckiness of being a specialized Veil Manipulator, aka Rift Mage, in a world without the Veil. Making up her mind, Lavellan ran to nearest eluvian, even though she didn’t know where it lead.  
“Tell me the master password. Now.” she demanded from the voice inside her mind. “I know that Dirthamen’s people have been changing them, but you surely have a master password which would take longer to crack than seven months.”  
“But this one leads to Tarasyl’an Tel’as, and—“  
“The password, Solas!” Lavellan threw another mind blast at the werewolves. “Skyhold is better than being eaten by wolves, no matter what has happened to it.”  
“Fen’Harel enansal.” Solas muttered.  
“Oh, by the lost Dales. And you blamed the others for pretending to be gods?” Lavellan shook her head in disgust. “Fen’Harel’s blessings. Fen’Harel enansal.”  
The surface of mirror changed to fluid, and Lavellan threw herself through just when werewolf’s jaws caught the edge of her nightgown, ripping ugly hole to the fabric.

 

\--

When Lavellan stumbled through the mirror, hitting her knees again, she understood something was very wrong with Skyhold. The room was in ruins, with broken furniture littering the floor. There was no light except for a single torch of veilfire, and she heard Dorian’s shaking voice:  
“If you think you can seduce me and cut my throat, ghost, I assure you: I still don’t like women.”  
“Dorian?” Lavellan asked uncertainly.  
“Do not come closer.” Dorian replied. “I still have magic left, and you can’t fool me with dead woman’s face. I’ve seen through your tricks, and you will not have me, _Skyhold_. Not like you had others.”  
Lavellan stood up very slowly, brushing her bruised knees and adjusting her nightgown. There was an odd sound coming from another room, and what little she could see of Dorian’s face, was worrying. His face was pale and sweaty, and his eyeliner was running. Dorian would never let anyone see him like that.  
“I know it’s a long story, Dorian, but it’s me.”, Lavellan said, her explanation sounding feeble in her own ears. “I... had trouble getting death stick. The Well of Sorrows. It’s complicated.”  
Dorian stared at her.  
“You held me while Cassandra hacked the chains.” Lavellan said miserably. “You shouted: “Don’t you dare to die on me”. And then you started to cry, and your makeup got shoddy. I tried to ask you why you cried, but you couldn’t hear me. Cole said it was because I died.”  
She held her arms tightly around herself, rubbing them. It was eerily cold in the room, and her skin was getting chicken bumps. Her arm was still bleeding, and she grimaced as she touched the sore spot.  
“Did you happen to have a handkerchief?” she asked tentatively from Dorian. “I’m afraid I didn’t stock up for this. I was coming from my father-in-law’s and heading home when I got ambushed by mysterious archer and a group of werewolves.”  
“You are bleeding.” Dorian said, looking bewildered. “There is blood on the floor. Go stand against the wall.”  
“All right.” Lavellan said uncertainly. She took a few steps backwards and watched Dorian approaching the small stain on the floor.  
“If you try anything, ghost, I’ll make you regret it.”, Dorian warned as he knelt on one knee and touched the blood with his fingertips. He raised his hand up, smelling it, and rubbed his fingers together before rushing towards Lavellan.  
“Ouch! Dorian, what are you—“, Lavellan was suddenly crushed against mage’s chest.  
“I will never forgive you for dying.” Dorian said, hugging her so tightly that it hurt. “I hate you for doing that to me. But you are alive. You are somehow alive, thank the Maker. Ghosts don’t bleed.”  
Over his shoulder, Lavellan saw a glimpse of a shadow on the eluvian, and suddenly the mirror broke.  
“Fasta vass.” Dorian cursed, taking her hand. “Run!”

Skyhold was not like she remembered. Not at all. Lavellan had seen a glimpse of garden, but it was full of dead, withered plants. There was something pooled on the gazebo floor, but Dorian had pulled her towards the war room corridor before she could make out what it was.  
They stood in the war room corridor. Dorian’s back was against the wall, and he was keeping eye on war room door with nervous expression.  
“It might be best if we did not go there.” he said steadily. “I made that mistake when I arrived here, and I don’t care to repeat it.”  
“What has happened here?” Lavellan asked.  
“When the Veil fell, something went awry here. I got a worrying letter from Cassandra. There were disappearances. Strange voices. Blood in odd places. She tried to be calm, and reasonable, but the people were freaking out. And then… nothing.” Dorian replied.  
“Nothing?”  
“Nothing. I wrote back twice, but received no word from Skyhold. When my contacts told that nobody had entered or left the fortress after the Veil, I decided I had to investigate in person. I’ve been here for two weeks and the truth is… I don’t know what happened to people here, but I think the fortress is haunted.” Dorian whispered. “I brought four people with me. Good, experienced mercenaries. They are all dead, killed by Skyhold, and I can’t get out.”  
“You can’t get out?”  
“No.”, Dorian said grimly. “Every time I try to get near the gates, something happens. Last time one of my men decided to run for it, he simply disappeared, and later I saw him hanged from the gate trellis.”  
Lavellan remembered the broken eluvian, and felt cold shivers running across her spine.  
“Oh, damn.” she shook her head.  
“On a bright side, this seems to work like a horror story.” Dorian said with fake cheer. “I’ve stayed alive by adhering to few basic rules. If there is eerie music, I go another way. If I hear strange noises, I never investigate. I never look at any mirrors, because ghost would look back from it. Since you aren’t handsome man, we won’t having sex which would get us killed, and…”  
“Dorian.”, Lavellan said gloomily. “Have you noted what I’m wearing?”  
She lifted the lacy hem of her white nightshirt between her fingers and thrusted it at Dorian.  
“Oh, dear.” Dorian said. “For both of our sakes, I hope you are a virgin. Because in horror literature, innocent girls wearing white survive to confront the Evil One and break the curse. Preferably in time to save their handsome platonic friends before they die. The second trope isn’t nearly as positive.”  
“What is it about?” Lavellan asked suspiciously.  
“The woman wearing white becomes a sacrificial victim.” Dorian admitted.  
“How surprising.” Lavellan said sarcastically.

There was melody coming through the thick door leading to main hall.  
“If we are going to get out from here without using the gate, I know a way.” Lavellan said, holding the palm of her hand on the wood. “First time when I ventured to Undercroft, I stepped on a loose tile or something, and I fell through the floor. There was a cavern below, with a very strange rabbit wearing a hat, and a narrow path leading down the mountain.”  
“Don’t you remember what I said? If there is music, you never go towards it. Ever.” Dorian scolded her.  
“Yes, but there are no other ways to Undercroft. Unless it has been changed?” Lavellan asked.  
“We should at least go to Vivienne’s balcony and see what is going on in the hall before opening that door.” Dorian said.  
“That is reasonable.” Lavellan admitted. “Besides, I think—“  
The door opened with a creaking noise, entirely on its own accord, and Dorian’s torch went out.  
Lavellan’s elven eyes were far sharper in the darkness than his. Her voice was very steady when she looked towards the hall and said:  
“Dorian. Close your eyes and think of happy thoughts. This is just like the Fear Demon in the Fade. We are going to walk through the hall and think happy thoughts.”

“This is the most deranged plan I’ve ever heard.” Dorian said as he held his eyes closed and took a step forwards, holding Lavellan’s hand. He felt something cold pressing against his barrier.  
“It will work.” Lavellan replied. “I put up a barrier when yours fail, and we will talk about happy things and you keep your eyes closed as we walk across the hall. Emotions are strong in a world without Veil; ours must be stronger than the fear of those who died here.”  
“And what about you?” Dorian asked.  
“I will lead you. I see better in the dark.” Lavellan said simply.  
“I meant about your emotions.”  
“I’ve died too often to be afraid of death. Think of Iron Bull, Dorian.” Lavellan advised as she started to walk, pulling him with her. “Do you remember that time at Emerald Graves when he started asking how often you polished your staff? Or when you asked if he would prefer you bound and leashed because you are a mage, and he said that he’d buy you a dinner first?”  
“He was horrible.” Dorian sniffed, but there was no real edge on his voice. “After you died, I bought this nice villa near the border…”

Lavellan swallowed, willing to keep her heart steady as she saw the countless shades filling the Inquisition hall. They were mostly formless, and she couldn’t quite make out any familiar faces. The one standing near the library door looked a bit like Cassandra, but she couldn’t tell for certain unless she went closer. One of them, a headless woman, was holding a writing pad, and Lavellan looked at another direction. She focused on Dorian’s voice and walked them past the dais, where a bloody, short cloak with fur lining was thrown over a throne. It looked like Cullen’s.  
She pushed her fears away from her mind, thinking of simple things. Easy memories. Like sunlight shining through the window when she had woken up this morning, the pleasant feeling of newly aired, clean sheets against her skin. The walk across Crossroads, and marvelling at colours painting the sky. The feeling of excitement fluttering in her belly when she climbed to observatory and saw him standing there on his familiar spot. A soft smile made Lavellan’s lips curve upwards. She thought of him, his easy flirtation, the faint smiles which were true ones, how it felt to wake up in the middle of the night and crawl a bit closer just to feel him next to her. Or sometimes he woke up, and pulled her close to ward off dreams he didn’t like. Sleep, gaidhalas, he muttered with voice thick with sleep, and held his hand over her heart.  
“Gaidhalas?” Solas snorted, breaking Lavellan’s concentration. “And this is what you chose to betray me for. Puppy love.”  
Lavellan flinched, her pleasant barrier of good feelings suddenly vanishing, and the ghosts around them seemed to sense the change. They turned to face her, and Lavellan saw there were no eyes. Just empty spaces which burned with green flames. And there was a ghost of large, horned man standing at the door leading towards the Undercroft. His features were too misty to tell if he had an eyepatch or not, but he held a two-handed axe.  
“Solas.”, Lavellan said strictly. “You will stop sneaking into my mind. You and the rest of the dead priests will keep their mouths shut, or I will banish you.”  
“Whom you are talking to? Solas?” Dorian asked, opening his eyes. His gaze stopped at the qunari ghost, and his whole body started to shake.  
“Kadan?” he asked in small voice, and Lavellan thought her heart was going to break when the ghost lifted a fist to its chest. Its mouth moved, but no sound came out.  
“Kadan.”, Dorian said again, falling to his knees. The crowd of ghosts came closer, and Lavellan felt the freezing cold biting her skin. It was numbing, and she pulled Dorian’s hand.  
“Dorian.”, she said. “We must go.”  
Dorian didn’t answer. He looked at the ghost blocking their way, and his lower lip trembled. Then Lavellan saw the first tear falling along his nose. Dorian let out a shuddering breath, which turned into a desperate sob.  
“Stop it!” Lavellan yanked his hand. “You can’t know if it’s true. You told this place is playing with us. Stand up, Dorian. Stand up!”  
He was slumped on the ground, unresponsive, and the ghosts were already close enough to make goose bumps appear on her skin. The large, horned one was moving too. It held the large axe in its hands, and the same eerie green fire burned in the eyeholes.  
“Pavus, STAND UP!” Lavellan roared from the top of her lungs. She pulled him up with strength fuelled by panic and took a Fade step. The spell took them through the qunari ghost, and Lavellan thought she was going to suffocate as she drew the damp, misty air into her lungs.

Her spell exhausted, they ended up standing next to armor stand in the Undercroft. The ghosts were pouring through the doors, now, like a mist filled with angry green flames, and Lavellan saw the different weapons lined neatly across the walls starting to make twitchy moves.  
“This is not good.” Dorian said, staring at the weapons rack. “I’m too beautiful to die.”  
Lavellan was furiously stomping on the floor, trying to find the right spot.  
“Do you know if they fixed the hole?” she asked from Dorian with desperation.  
“I don’t know!” Dorian said, raising up a wall of ice when the first axe got freed from the weapon rack and started to fly towards them. Lavellan heard a thunk after thunk as the weapons hit the ice, sinking deep.  
“This is the last time I’m going to sleep at his father’s place.” Lavellan said, feeling the panic rising inside her.  
“Wait. You mentioned something about father-in-law. Have you gotten married? Can dead people get married?”  
“Elves don’t marry, you ignorant magister. It’s called bonding. And I’m not. It’s more like a committed relationship, or a shemlen engagement. Or it would be, if I didn’t keep dying all the time.” Lavellan retreated hastily as a ghosts started to close on them.  
“You mean this happens often? You two met after you died?” Dorian frowned. “Who in his right mind would fall in love with a dead woman?”  
Lavellan was trying to think of a clever retort, when Dorian stumbled on the moist rocks. She glimpsed the most ridiculous boots under his robes, and her eyes widened as she saw a striped high heel for the second time within a day. But she had no time to react, because Dorian had lost his balance and he was falling backwards in the waterfall, pulling Lavellan with him. The last thing she saw were the ghosts standing on the edge and looking as they fell.


	2. Don't get stranded in the ocean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan and Dorian find themselves stranded in ocean which was not supposed to be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack for first scene (I couldn't help it) is embedded in hyperlink --.
> 
> Druast'asha is combination of words from Fenxshiral's Project Elvhen, meaning "hallowed lady". Dirthamen's people came up with it when they needed a title for their lord's consort.

[\--](https://youtu.be/fQwmonwa6r8)

 

“You know, if it weren’t you, with that giant gash on your forehead, but a handsome man, this could be romantic.” Dorian remarked. He was holding Lavellan’s both hands in his, and they faced each other, trying to keep their upper bodies above surface as they balanced on a small raft created with magic.  
Lavellan snorted. Her white nightshirt floated around her, clinging to her skin.  
“The sunrise is indeed lovely.” she said. “But only a nobleman would think that drifting out to sea is romantic.”  
“Your origins are showing. There is a hugely popular romantic story of magister’s daughter, who falls in love with elven slave when her family sends her across Boeric Ocean to marry. On the journey, a secret love blossoms despite the difference of their positions.”  
“And the elf dies.” Lavellan supplemented.  
“Naturally. He dies a heroic death when a huge, monstrous sea dragon, a cetus, is drawn by the fireworks heroine’s fiancée arranged to celebrate the ship’s arrival to Seheron’s waters. Cetus wrecks the ship, destroying it to shreds. The elf nobly sacrifices himself to distract the cetus while magister’s daughter swims to safety.” Dorian explained. “Or actually, she doesn’t swim. She holds on ship’s figurehead and floats, because it’s much more dignified and less sweaty.”  
“Of course.” Lavellan said sarcastically. “Do you think there are sea dragons here?”  
“Hard to say.” Dorian said thoughtfully. “I never expected a river to take us from Skyhold to open sea in one night. There wasn’t supposed to be a sea anywhere near. “  
“Yeah. The maps don’t seem to hold much value these days.”  
She looked at marvellous sunrise in shades of pink, purple and fiery orange. The sea around them seemed to stretch endlessly. No matter which direction she looked, she couldn’t see the shore.  
“My arms are starting to tire.” Dorian complained. “And I think my ankle twisted when we fell from Skyhold.”  
“Now that sun has risen, it’s Friday.” Lavellan said. “Someone will save us before Saturday morning.”  
“What the day has to do with it?”  
“My father-in-law holds a family dinner each Saturday. He says that even a death is not an excuse to skip it, and if someone does not appear, he’ll send people to drag them there.” Lavellan explained. “So I figured out that since we don’t know where we are, and we have to reserve mana to keep us afloat, we might as well hold on and wait for the rescue.”

“Dorian. What happened to Iron Bull?” Lavellan asked later in the day. Dorian’s reaction at Skyhold had been unexpected, and she was worried that she had made a mistake there.  
“Maker, I need a drink for this.” Dorian muttered. He pushed a hand inside his one-sleeved outfit and pulled out a small pocket flask made from silverite. Opening the cork with his teeth, he took a sip and offered the bottle to Lavellan.  
“He didn’t make it through the Fall.” Dorian said. “We had this villa near the border for our meetings. When Veil started to tear, I was still on my way there. Lucerni business in Magisterium had kept me late. So when the Fall happened, I was thirty miles from there. ”  
The burn in Lavellan’s throat was not all from the whiskey when she offered flask back to Dorian. He took a heady gulp and continued:  
“You know how frightened he was of demons. Without the Veil, the strength of his fear drew them like a shining beacon. And it all went to Void from there.”  
Not meeting Lavellan’s eyes, Dorian added in small voice:  
“It just tears me to think he died alone, surrounded by what frightened him the most. And I keep thinking… Fasta vass.” he wiped his eyes in angry gesture, shaking the raft. “I keep thinking that if I had been faster, I could have saved him.”  
“Oh, Dorian.” Lavellan said, blinking tears from her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”  
“I know, friend.” he smiled through tears and emptied his pocket flask, blinking as the burn started. “Just let us pretend we didn’t cry.”

What Dorian knew of their former companions among Inquisition, was no easier. Of all races, elves had least casualties. Mages had survived the Fall best, and templars were close second, since they had experience and rigid self-control to deal with chaotic magic. But the fate of surface dwarves was far worse, and the qunari hadn’t fared well, either.  
“The Magisterium contemplates another war against qunari now that we’ve all received a power boost. Of course, it’s not really viable option before people stop accidentally setting themselves aflame when they give a spirited talk in the Magisterium.” Dorian said dryly. “Sera would enjoy it.”  
“Do you know what happened to her?” Lavellan asked.  
“She was with Dagna, I think, when the Veil went down. Fiddling with some Red Jenny business according to Cassandra’s letter. No idea if they survived but knowing Sera's views on magic, probably not.” Dorian said. “Cassandra was all right, at least until Skyhold changed, and so was Cullen. I have no information on Blackwall. Varric died. And Vivienne is still Divine, as unwelcome as it is.”  
“I met her just before the Fall. I haven’t forgiven her, but we settled things between us. Somewhat.” Lavellan replied. "One of Evanuris was planning to burn her. I couldn’t let it happen."  
"You lack the proper motivation for revenge.” Dorian sighed. "You wouldn't last five minutes in Tevinter."  
“Let us hope we won’t drift to Minrathous, then.” Lavellan remarked tiredly. “Your countrymen trying to assassinate me would drive Dirthamen nuts.”  
Shaking her head carefully, not to disturb the precarious balance of their raft, she added unhappily:  
“He’s probably out of his mind, now, looking for me. I was supposed to go back home yesterday morning. We thought that this dying business was over.”  
“Dirthamen? As Keeper of Secrets? The Evanuris whose flooded temple was filled with dismembered undead and gross little jars decorated with skulls?” Dorian asked sharply.  
Looking at the Lavellan’s defiant expression, he groaned:  
“Oh, Maker’s breath, Lavellan. You just can’t resist ancient and elfy, can you?”

\--

“Fear fished her from sea two hours ago, my lord, and gave us orders to contact you.” elven officer explained as he led Dirthamen through a makeshift camp. “Druast’asha was accompanied by a shemlen mage, whom we identified as one Dorian Pavus, a Tevinter Magister from Inquisition.“  
“Do you yet know how my consort ended up drifting in a frozen river in Frostback Mountains?” Dirthamen’s voice was cool.  
“Druast’asha told us that she accidentally fell into waterfall at Tarasyl’an Tel’as while attempting to escape a horde of ghosts, my lord.” the officer coughed, feeling uneasy.  
“Waterfall?” Dirthamen raised his eyebrows.  
“The drop at Tarasyl’an Tel’as is fifty-four meters, but the depth of river was sufficiently deep for her to avoid contact with the bedrock.” officer said quickly. “The healers have already dealt with various scratches and bruises, and they assured me that the arrow wound was superficial. To be sure, they are watching over her as she sleeps.”  
“Arrow wound?” Dirthamen pinched the bridge of his nose.  
“Yes, my lord.” the officer cringed inwardly. “It appears that there was an ambush at the Crossroads...”  
“I think I’m going to have a headache.” Dirthamen muttered under his breath. He sat down, massaged his temples and drew a deep, calming breath before looking at the officer with steely gaze.  
“Tell me everything you know about the ambush.” Lord of Secrets commanded.

 

Lavellan sat on high-backed chair, wrapped in warm blanket. She sneezed. The three healers attending her exchanged alarmed glances. The stern-looking elf standing by the entrance narrowed her eyes and took a step closer. She was the one who had found them from the sea, and taken them to this camp. The woman had introduced herself as Fanim, and Lavellan had decided against telling Dorian that she strongly suspected their saviour was, as her name hinted, the raven called Fear from Dalish legend.  
“We strongly suggest you should rest, Druast’asha.” a healer said quickly. “Maybe another spell to strengthen your aura?”  
“No.”, Lavellan replied. “They make my teeth taste funny, and there is nothing wrong with my aura. It’s just a flu.”  
The three ancient elves looked aghast.  
“Flu?” the oldest of the healers was almost panicking. “Druast’asha, you must let us assist you. Our lord would never forgive us if a sudden sickness took you. I mean no insult, Hallowed Lady, but with your delicate, fragile shemlen constitution... You must allow us to check your lungs, at least.”  
Lavellan was going to give them a sharp reply, but then she remembered that ancient elves did not get sick. The very idea of getting sick was terrifying and alien to them, and they seemed very certain that they would get punished for something as simple and natural as person getting flu after drifting in cold water for hours.  
“All right.” she sighed, giving up. “Do what you deem best.”  
“Of course, Druast’asha.” healers’ faces brightened up, and they got to work, much relieved to be doing something. Fanim standing on guard snorted as she watched them starting to scurry around, and took up a position behind Lavellan’s chair.

“What was that exchange about?” Dorian asked. He was pleasantly drunk, and felt languid after few hours of badly needed sleep. There was food on the table, and a decanter filled with excellent wine. He filled his cup again, admiring the flavour. The elves had fixed his ankle, and told him to wait. For what, he didn’t know, but it was no hardship to lounge on soft pillows piled on the floor. There was only one chair, and it was the one where Lavellan sat.  
“They are afraid I’ll get a flu.” Lavellan replied. The ancient elves had found her a nice red dress complete with satin slippers, but for some reason, they would not return Dorian’s boots or his socks.  
“Ancient elves are no different than magisters of old on breeding fear into their servants, I see.”  
“Dorian.” Lavellan said in frustrated voice. They had argued about the topic for some time before getting rescued, and she was getting fed up. “Solas’ opinion of Evanuris is not the absolute truth. I knew them all, and I did not agree with Solas about all of them. Some of them were good, and some less so, but you should give them at least the courtesy of doubt.”  
Dorian blinked.  
“So it was true, then.” he said, pushing himself to proper sitting position. “The woman who led Falon’Din’s forces to attack Halamshiral. We heard rumours even in Tevinter that she looked like you. Was it you?”  
“Yes.” Lavellan answered, keeping her voice steady.  
“And this hospitality?” Dorian asked, gesturing with his hand. His expression was no longer open, but coloured with doubts and reservation. “Where you have the only chair in the room? How deep you have entangled yourself this time, Lavellan? I believed you at Halamshiral, when you told you didn’t know about Solas’ mad plan, but I’m no longer certain. One time could be an honest mistake. But your last boyfriend destroyed the world, and now you’ve taken up another just like him. Are you planning to enslave the humans and rebuild the empire, now? Become a queen of ruined world by his side?”  
“How entirely expected accusation.” Dirthamen said dryly, appearing at the tent door. He handed his cloak to servant, and crossed the floor covered by carpets and pillows.  
“We will bring you a chair, my lord.” Fanim said.  
“There is no need, Fanim. We will manage.” Dirthamen replied in common tongue. He picked Lavellan up and sat down on the chair, holding her on his lap.  
“So now you have expanded your repertoire from dramatic exits to well-timed entrances.” Lavellan said with a sigh. “How long you waited outside?”  
“You have so little faith in me.”, Dirthamen replied lightly. “I’m hurt.”  
He cupped her face between his hands and said seriously:  
“You must tell me what happened to you, gaidhalas.”  
Lavellan nodded, feeling ashamed because they were having this discussion _again_. She closed her eyes, and felt him kissing her forehead. Lavellan thought that she could feel a faint brush of magic hidden in gentle gesture, but she couldn’t tell if it was true or just her imagination.  
“We will speak about it later.” Dirthamen said. Slipping his arm around her waist, he turned to address Dorian:  
“I would very much like to hear your version of the events at Tarasyl’an Tel’as.”  
“If I get a chair, too.” Dorian crossed his arms over his chest. “My neck might get stiff from looking upwards too long.”  
Dirthamen’s mouth curved into polite, amused smile.  
“By all means. I trust you, as a Magister, can conjure a seat for yourself.”  
Dorian’s eyes narrowed. The gauntlet had been thrown.

After Corypheus’ defeat, Josephine had made Lavellan sit through the Grand Tournament in Free Marches. She held little interest watching people attack each other for sport, but Josephine had explained the nobility considered these matches a point of honour. Dorian had once mentioned that mages in Tevinter sometimes held duels in public, and Lavellan was starting to think she was watching some kind of duel between her best friend and her lover.

“So what does a God of Secrets do in his free time?” Dorian asked when he finished recounting the events in Skyhold. “Do you have any hobbies? Like reconstructing your temple? If you plan to get any worshippers of quality, I’d advise to get rid of slimy water and animated dead. They are most unbecoming.”  
“Actually, I own a theatre.” Dirthamen replied coolly. “When I returned to Thedas, I spent first three months playing the antagonist in Phantom of the Chantry. The performance reviews were excellent, and I found it pleasing side hustle, so I purchased the establishment.”  
“You run the Theatre of Llomerryn?” Dorian looked bit taken aback.  
“I thought you might be familiar with our plays.” Dirthamen noted. “Llomerryn seems to be favourite destination for ‘Vints who wish to enjoy the entertainments offered.”  
“You never told me you own a theatre. Or that you played there.” Lavellan was surprised.  
“You never asked, gaidhalas.” Dirthamen replied easily. “I’m a very good actor. Actually, you met two of my theatre associates briefly at Lake Calenhad. Sulehn is taking care of Llomerryn theatre for me, and Soren is her apprentice.”  
“That’s curious admission. Especially coming from a man who holds hands on his mouth in every single mosaic I’ve seen.” Dorian remarked.  
Dirthamen’s smile deepened, like he had heard a joke he found very amusing, and for a moment, Lavellan saw the laugh lines on around his eyes.  
“You know artists, lord Pavus.” Dirthamen replied. “They like to interpret things in their own way.”

The discussion soon turned towards Tevinter and cultural entertainments to be had there, and how they compared to those in Southern Thedas. Servants made more lights to illuminate the tent when dusk fell. The wine decanter had been filled for second time, even though Lavellan had not taken any. She was starting to feel tired again, with a bit of headache. It had been very long and trying day yesterday, and those three hours she had slept since leaving Elgar’nan’s palace weren’t nearly enough. She snuggled against Dirthamen, letting her head rest on his shoulder. He adjusted his arm a bit, holding her securely.  
“Of course, most places closed their doors after the Veil.” Dorian said unhappily. “Even the Imperial Theatre at Val Royeaux posted a notice of extended leave.”  
“I feel it’s a grave mistake.” Dirthamen noted. “This is a prime chance to create art with such a small cost of power and expand before others do. Why to bother painting props, when one could craft a wondrous illusion with his will alone?”  
“Because templars will come and brand you with sunburst, making you Tranquil.” Dorian pointed out. “Southern Thedas is not a place where unregulated use of magic is kindly looked upon.”  
“It’s a pity.” Dirthamen shrugged. “But I doubt things will stay this way for long. Without Veil, a narrow-minded approach to magic simply won’t work. My sources tell me that mages were mostly feared by those who didn’t possess the gift themselves. The vast majority of people who survived the upheaval were trained mages. Next century or two will be spent in adjusting, and after that, the power structure will look very different.”  
“Very different how?” Dorian asked shrewdly. “More elven mage-kings like the one at Halamshiral?”  
“Who can say?” Dirthamen turned his palms upwards. “And why would you worry about something you won’t see? The loss of Veil didn’t affect humans very much. The elven survivors, like my Roshan and her People, are entirely different story. You would do well to consider this as you try to gain power for Lucerni in the Magisterium. As Tevinter is now, it practically waits for a rebel leader to rise among elves. I’ll give you twenty years. At maximum.”  
“And what will happen then? You will step on the stage and revenge all wrongdoings?” Dorian queried.  
“It’s a possibility.” Dirthamen replied. “But I’m not the one with grudges. It could be one of your slaves in the Imperium. It could be some other elf. It could be my father. He will turn his gaze upon new conquests eventually, and Falon’Din has settled down in the south, claiming the southern Orlais for himself. It would make sense for father to choose north to avoid family conflict. And he has certain kind of reputation, one your elven slaves might feel drawn to.”  
“I see.” Dorian said slowly. “And what would you do, if you were me?”  
“We can talk about that, but it’s a topic which requires you to wade into my flooded temple and complete proper rites. You said I was lacking quality worshippers, and it would simply not do to offer too much information for free.” Dirthamen smiled, taking a sip from a glass Fanim handed to him.  
“I’ll pass.”, Dorian said. “I might not look like one, but I’m strictly Andrastian.”  
“A pity. Where did you buy your shoes? I saw them outside the tent and they have very distinctive look. My brother might like the style.”  
“Exclusive place in Minrathous. You’d need a referral to shop at Marcus Livernius.”, Dorian replied. “But to be honest, you aren’t as hopeless as Lavellan’s last Evanuris boyfriend. Solas had terrible clothes, and at least you wear boots.”  
“Of course I do. I have no need for false humility.” Dirthamen said nonchalantly.  
Dorian looked around the room. His eyes narrowed when he noted satin slippers peeking under Lavellan’s dress, and simple foot wraps worn by other elves. Fanim standing on guard had armor which hid her toes, but she didn’t have shoes, either. Dorian’s glance stopped at his own bare feet.  
“Lavellan. Do the ancient elves have rules about shoes and precedence?” Dorian asked sharply.  
Dirthamen just smiled.  
“Lavellan. Are you falling asleep on him?” Dorian asked in louder voice.  
She stirred, blinking wearily.  
“What did you say?” Lavellan asked, rubbing her eyes.  
“I knew it.”, Dorian shook his head. “You did the same thing when Marquis de Reilles came to Skyhold. You are hopeless.”  
“It’s not that.” Lavellan protested. “I had a long and very tiresome day yesterday, being chased by undead _and_ werewolves, and you were talking about politics.”  
“You are the Inquisitor. Politics are your job.” Dorian pointed out.  
“Yes, but that was before I died.” Lavellan defended herself. “It’s the same thing as resigning.”  
“I disagree. We will talk about this before I go back to Tevinter.” Dorian warned.  
“But not now, lord Pavus.” Dirthamen said. “It’s growing late, and my lady is tired. I need to get her to bed. My servants will see to your needs.”

\--

“Aren’t we going to sleep here?” Lavellan asked when the servants withdrew. The attendants had made up a bed from pillows and silk sheets; she thought it looked inviting, but Dirthamen paid it no attention.  
“It’s not wise to sleep where people expect when there is a conspiracy afoot.” Dirthamen said. “It makes assassinations much easier. I’ll take us somewhere else in a moment.”  
Lavellan watched as he dispelled the glamor he had worn for the night; there were dark shadows under his eyes. He looked tired. She suspected Dirthamen had spent whole night looking for her after she didn’t come home from Elgar’nan’s, probably pouring far too much mana to summon all these people and organize a search.  
“Vhenan.”, she said, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “We’ll stay. It will be fine. You are exhausted, and so am I. It’s far better to sleep surrounded by people who can stand on guard than to sneak off by ourselves.”  
She pressed her cheek against his shoulder and added softly:  
“I didn’t die. I’m still here. You can afford night’s sleep, Dirthamen.”  
“All right. We’ll put up wards and stay here tonight. I’ll tell Fanim to stand on guard.” he gave up too easily, confirming Lavellan’s suspicion.  
But she said nothing. Just entwined her fingers with his and pulled him to bed.

Things were always better in the morning, and this one was a prime example. Lavellan had went to sleep fully expecting to wake up feeling like someone had stuffed a hedgehog in her throat, but when she opened her eyes in tent, she felt fine. All signs of impeding flu had vanished. Sun was shining through the canvas walls, and Dirthamen slept next to her, deliciously naked. For once, Falon’Din was at least two hundred miles away, and she had overheard Dirthamen telling the guards to kill anyone trying to enter the tent. It was a perfect opportunity. An excellent idea began to form in Lavellan’s mind. She leaned on her elbows and studied her prize, trying to choose how to start. So many possibilities.

First pull the sheet down. A trail of kisses over his hip, from back to front. Yes. It was a perfect start. Then she’d--  
“You can’t be serious, vhenan.” Solas interrupted her. “This is ill-advised action.”  
“You can’t be serious. What you are doing in my head when I’m planning how to suck my boyfriend?” Lavellan hissed back at him. “Its private information!”  
“I returned to Well of Sorrows, like all Mythal’s bound servants do after they die.” Solas said matter-of-factly.  
“Good for you. Now be quiet.” Lavellan said, focusing on finalizing her plan of attack.  
“I beg you to think this through. I understand you might feel conflicted because you had to get close to him to complete Mythal’s task, but there are other choices. You could rebuild Inquisition. Return to Abelas and rest of Mythal’s servants. Even form your own clan among the Dalish, if you have to. “, Solas began.  
“Stop the act, Solas.” Lavellan rolled her eyes. “You’re just annoyed because I like Dirthamen better than you. I don’t want to go back to Inquisition, join Mythal’s slaves or become a Keeper. If you don’t get out of my head right now, you’ll see what I want to do with my life today.”  
“Was that a threat?” Solas’ voice rose.  
“A promise.” Lavellan said evilly, and pulled the sheet down. “Go away, Solas.”  
Dirthamen woke up when cold air touched his skin.  
“Who you are talking to?” he asked in sleepy voice.  
“Well of Sorrows. The latest addition to pool of dead priests, Solas, strongly disagrees with my plan for this morning.” Lavellan said, pushing him on his back.  
Dirthamen frowned.  
“What plans y—“, his question was cut short. He drew a sharp breath between his teeth, his body tensing.  
“No need to answer, Roshan.” Dirthamen added quickly. “I don’t disagree. At all. Just... _Go on_.”  
Lavellan smiled when she heard his demand. It was such a welcome change from ‘no, we shouldn’t, not even here’. In her opinion, enthusiasm must be rewarded.

 

They spent the morning making love. The Well was blissfully silent, and Falon’Din didn’t make appearance. “For someone supposed to be known for his silence, you are terribly determined to break mine.” she remarked as she snuggled with him, feeling happy and mellow.  
Dirthamen smiled.  
“I like it.”, he remarked. “But Roshan, we need to talk about the attack.”  
“Yes.” Lavellan sighed. “I take it you already saw the memory? You did ask about shoes from Dorian.”  
“He is one of my suspects.” Dirthamen replied. “The Well is another.”  
Lavellan looked at him, feeling unsettled.  
“Gaidhalas, there are too many coincidences in this. Fen’Harel has been dead for months. Why would he chose this exact moment to appear, when your life was threatened and you needed his assistance? Is his assistance beneficial, or a plot to act on behalf the person controlling the Well. The Well has been silent until now, and we need to find out who woke it up. Who controls Vir’Abelasan, and why?” Dirthamen asked, raising a finger to number a question.  
“Secondly. Wolves, whether they are hybrids or normal animals, hunt in packs. They chase their prey methodically to location of their choosing. The mirror leading to Tarasyl’an Tel’as could have been where they wanted you to go. And your friend waited there. All this could have been arranged.” he raised second finger. “Dorian might not necessarily be part of the group hunting for you, but he could be a bait, as well.”  
“But who is hunting me?”  
Dirthamen grimaced.  
“My people have been keeping eye on things after the Veil fell, and there are several factions I suspect. There is a shemlen cult called ‘Andraste Reborn’. They believe that you are Andraste reborn because you burned like her but didn’t die, and you need to be returned to Maker’s arms for world to become ‘right’ again.”  
“Oh, fenedhis.” Lavellan groaned.  
“However, I don’t think they are the most dangerous threat.” Dirthamen continued. “When Solas’ trap caught most of my colleagues, their followers and worshippers lost them again. There is much resentment towards you among those elvhen. They could use eluvians, and the best of Evanuris’ servants are never dismissed lightly. They are my prime suspects.”  
“Fifthly, there is a Tevinter connection. The shoes.” Dirthamen counted. “I haven’t been able to analyse it thoroughly yet, but I’m looking into it. And sixthly, the attack could have been orchestrated by my brother or my father.”  
“I don’t think so.”, Lavellan resisted. The look on his face hurt her. It was just like his story of Mythal’s death. Dirthamen kept wishing for closer family bonds, but it never seemed to happen.  
“They both have killed you before, and they knew where you were.” Dirthamen pointed out. “Maybe I’ve been too trusting.”  
“I don’t believe it.”, Lavellan said. “If Elgar’nan wanted to kill me, he wouldn’t have failed. Or if he wanted to avoid being caught, why not to poison me? Why would he bother with something so complicated as arranging for werewolves and masked archer while he could have simply told Senris to shoot me and blame it on someone else?”  
Dirthamen wasn’t entirely convinced.  
“It could be.” he allowed. “But they are still on the list until I find proof they had nothing to do with this.”  
“My lord.” a woman’s voice called from the tent door, and a moment later, she walked in.  
Dirthamen turned around, glaring daggers at intruder.  
“Fanim. I told you I’m not to be disturbed when I’m attending Druast’asha.” he snapped.  
Lavellan tried not to giggle. The look of disapproval on his face was priceless, more fitting for a king on this throne addressing annoying subordinate than a naked man cuddling his lover on a tent floor.  
“Yes, but something strange has appeared to camp perimeter just behind our wards.” Fanim replied. “It’s... hard to explain, and I fear the meaning is beyond our abilities to discern. We cannot agree what it is.”  
“Oh, fenedhis.” Dirthamen cursed. “Do I have to do everything by myself around here? Bring us something to wear.”

Dirthamen’s patience was running thin as he strode across the camp after Fanim, a ridiculously dramatic cloak billowing in the wind. Lavellan followed her, trying to keep up even if she had to take three steps for his two.  
“I hope this manifestation is indeed as unique as you say, Fanim.” he warned, sounding pissed off. “If you dragged me away from Druast’asha for some Neromenian death cult symbol, or Barindur remnant, I’ll make you regret this.”  
“Your threats are music to my ears, my lord.” Fanim replied with unpleasant smile. “It is universal truth that people with nothing to lose have nothing to fear.”  
“You already tried to play on my fears once and failed, Fanim.” Dirthamen replied coldly. “Do not presume you could fare against me any better now.”  
Fanim closed her mouth, looking sullen. Lavellan glanced at them, wondering what the true story behind Dalish legend was. She had thought that Fanim was to Dirthamen what Senris was to Elgar’nan, but clearly it was not the case. The antagonism made it different.  
“Here, my lord.” Fanim pushed her way through a small group of elves, who were debating heatedly about the meaning of message.  
Lavellan rose to her toes to see over Dirthamen’s shoulder. She was curious to find out what had caused all this. But when she saw what was on the ground, she frowned, blinked her eyes and looked again.  
“An eggplant?” Lavellan was perplexed. “With eyes made of grapes and the smiling mouth… Is it from tomato?”  
She reached closer to touch the odd arrangement perched on pile of rocks, but Dirthamen stopped her.  
“It could be enchanted. Or poisoned.” he said.  
“But what is it, o Keeper of Secrets? A message, surely, but what does it mean?” one of the elves wearing his vallaslin asked. “An insult? A threat? Is it from the assailant who hunts for our Hallowed Lady?”  
Dirthamen stared at arrangement with narrowed eyes and said determinedly:  
“Whatever this is, the answer will not escape me.”  
His people cheered, looking very pleased, and Lavellan wanted to hide her face in her hands. It looked like her lovely, amorous morning had been called off. _By a smiling eggplant._

There was no justice in the world.

 

 


	3. With friends like these...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With friends (or relatives) like these, who needs enemies?
> 
> Dorian and Lavellan work out their grudges during Elgar'nan's family dinner, while Falon'Din solves his with blackmail.

At least one thing in this macabre world was constant, Lavellan thought. There was no escaping Elgar’nan’s family dinner even if one was stranded in the middle of nowhere in impromptu military camp. Like every Saturday at noon, she took her designated spot on Dirthamen’s right side, dressed up to nines. Except Dirthamen was still busy with stupid eggplant, and they weren’t going to go to Elgar’nan’s palace. Those of Dirthamen’s people who weren’t busy with vegetables had spread a blanket on the grass and catered a feast over it. Lavellan wondered if the servants were pulling all these nice dresses from theatre wardrobe, because she didn’t think ancient elves had a stash of fashion and from Vivienne’s explanations, she knew how long it took to order a fashionable attire.

Lavellan had just spied a group of dragons diving down from the sky, and Fanim who shadowed her every step like a dutiful bodyguard, had confirmed that they were Elgar’nan’s chosen. She wondered if she should send someone to get Dirthamen before the guests arrived. He had spent most of the morning carefully dismantling the bizarre arrangement. There had been nothing magical or unusual with eggplant or any of the embellishments, even though Lavellan had been surprised to find out her lover could pinpoint where the vegetables had been grown by the size and colour. Dirthamen claimed the eggplant and tomato originated from northern Ferelden, and they had been harvested approximately four days ago. The grapes were significantly older, being Tevinter origin, and preserved in ice until they’d been defrosted three days ago.

Personally, Lavellan thought it had been nothing but a stupid joke which didn’t deserve much attention, but suggesting that to Dirthamen had been a grievous mistake. Now he was determined to find out who had dared to play him for a fool. Lavellan had last seen him working on a spell which pulled imprints of memories and past happenings from the ground and sky itself. She hoped it wouldn’t take years to finish. She wanted to go home.

“Is my hairdo all right?” Lavellan asked from Dorian. They didn’t have a mirror in the camp, and even though she didn’t think Dirthamen’s people would make her look stupid, Dorian was the only one whom she could count on telling her the truth. The servants would start to fuss and wring their hands for the fear of displeasing Druast’asha.  
“It’s fine, even though the curled bits hanging free on the side make it look ridiculously romantic.” Dorian replied. “And I wonder why they didn’t bother doing anything to hickey on your neck. It looks like you had fun rebuilding the empire, didn’t you?”  
“What?” Lavellan startled. Oh, fenedhis. Of course Dirthamen’s people _wouldn’t_ say anything.  
“Where is it?” she demanded frantically from Dorian, readying a healing spell. “Elgar’nan is going to be here any moment and—“

“Daughter.”, Elgar’nan strode into view, flanked by Senris and few of his chosen. Ignoring Dorian completely, Elgar’nan walked straight to her, taking her hands in his. Lavellan cringed inwardly, feeling mortally embarrassed as Eldest of the Sun studied her. She wouldn’t have been opposed to well-timed death from sheer shame right now.  
“You seem to be well recovered from yesterday’s trials.” Elgar’nan said. Lavellan looked upwards reluctantly, and to her surprise, she saw a very pleased look on Elgar’nan’s face. He looked almost smug.  
“I’m fine.” Lavellan reassured him, feeling relieved that they were apparently going to have civilized conversation and simply ignore any faults in her appearance.  
“Good.” Elgar’nan nodded. “Since we are having a picnic, I took a liberty to bring your favourite dish.”  
He nodded to Senris, who promptly placed a bowl of blue mousse on the blanket.  
“It’s very considerate of you. I have to admit that I've developed a craving for it.”, Lavellan added. "Even though I'm somewhat worried about you poisoning me in secret."  
Elgar’nan’s smile deepened.  
“Shrewd thinking, but no. It's simply a very old recipe, no different than herbal teas people drink to soothe their aches or give them good sleep. There is nothing harmful in it."  
Lavellan glanced at inviting bowl, noticing sour scent which made her mouth water.  
"You still aren't going to tell me the recipe?” she asked hopefully.  
"No.", Elgar'nan shook his head. "Maybe one day, but not yet. Where is my son?”  
“There was an incident with vegetables…” Lavellan began and reached for the bowl.

 

“Is the shemlen yours?” Elgar’nan asked conversationally as they began to eat. Fanim had sent a messenger to get Dirthamen. “You should consider marking him so nobody will accidentally kill him. They all look so alike with their mangled ears, especially the furry-faced ones. I find it hard to separate one from another.”  
“What is he saying?” Dorian glanced at Elgar’nan suspiciously. Senris took a small step closer to Tevinter.  
Lavellan cleared her throat.  
“My father-in-law is commenting how it’s hard to tell humans apart because you all look alike, and wishes nobody will accidentally kill you.” she translated diplomatically.  
“It’s not what I said.” Elgar’nan said gleefully in elvish, taking a fresh strawberry.  
“I didn’t know you spoke common!” Lavellan frowned.  
“Of course I do. It was a language used to instruct slaves. Dirthamen’s idea. It was forbidden to teach them elvish. Mute slaves make bad spies, they were generally compliant because they couldn’t learn anything useful without language, and the elven slaves had people to look down to. Very practical arrangement.” Elgar’nan replied in elvish.  
“I see.” Lavellan said sharply. “And that is why the Dalish lost the language? Being your former slaves who didn’t know much of it at first place?”  
“Keepers were different, naturally. But you shouldn’t place so much import on one’s origins. I don’t. When one possesses capability to rise above his limitations, the origins do not matter.” Elgar’nan stated firmly. “Once the path is taken, there is only one way, but you should be wary of not choosing quickly enough. There are always people ready to choose for you if you don't do it yourself.”  
“You speak like the return was impossible.” Lavellan remarked coolly.  
“But it’s true. Tell me honestly, daughter. Unlike my sons who know nothing about hardship, could you go back to life where you and your clan were constantly threatened by bandits, humans and nature itself? To life where supplies run low, your people die needless deaths by lack of basic comforts, and you are the one who makes the hardest decisions?”, Elgar’nan queried.  
"What is he saying now? You look like you had bitten a lemon.” Dorian demanded.  
"My father-in-law is asking what I plan to do now.” Lavellan told Dorian.  
"I don't think you should tell him that the Inquisition is going to fix the Veil.” Dorian smiled blandly at Elgar'nan. "Now that we know you aren't dead, there is hope of making things go back the way they were. You could lead us."  
“The Veil was nothing but an abomination. A prison, which took everything from elves, making them wither and die. I warn you against even considering such a foolish idea, daughter. You would not be the first child I’ve been forced to strike down.” Elgar’nan’s warning was empowered by anger, and Lavellan could feel the change in the air around them. It was like someone had opened a door to Skyhold’s smithy; the heat rolled out, encompassing her in uncomfortable warmth which glued her hair to her face and made it hard to breathe. Dorian seemed oddly unaffected, like he hadn’t noticed anything amiss, but Lavellan saw sweat glistening on Fanim’s brow, and at least one of Elgar’nan’s servants was discreetly untying the scarf around his neck to adjust to heat.  
"Even though this world is odd and baffling, it deserves a chance. Can't you remember how we used to criticize Solas for not giving our world more than measly five years? I _can’t_ make the same mistake he did.” Lavellan turned to Dorian.  
“Fasta vass, Lavellan! You sit there and talk about giving a world a chance when you have seen nothing of it. The real world, with real people, is out there, and they deserve better! Not all of us had a convenient Evanuris boyfriend at hand to provide a hideout when the world burned.” Dorian’s words were laced with bitterness. “It’s easy for you to speak. You didn’t lose anyone, and your failure to stop Solas in time cost me Iron Bull.”  
“I died twenty-two times during last year.” Lavellan hissed at Dorian, standing up. “TWENTY-TWO times! So if you think you can lecture about hardships to me, you’re sorely mistaken. You have done nothing but nagged since we met again! You were the one who pulled us into waterfall! You drew the ghosts at us! And if you slander Dirthamen one more time, even though he has tried to be polite to you for my sake, I’ll—“  
Dorian leaned forwards and said with a nasty smile:  
“Kaffar brother-fucker.”  
Lavellan threw herself on him.

 

“Pass the bread, Senris.” Elgar’nan said as he sat on the blanket. “That was a mean right hook.”  
“Yes, my lord, but she should have gone for the eyes instead.” Senris said with faint disapproval. “Enough damage and the quickling mage couldn’t have cast the enervation spell.”  
“She’s still young. There is time to learn.” Elgar’nan said benevolently. “The boys were not so different at her age.”  
“Your sons, my lord, were not allowed to leave the tent at her age.” Senris replied. “These Dalish grow up fast. We could use them.”  
“The edge of ferocity is there, yes.” Elgar’nan nodded, eating grapes. “Look. She’s closing on him.”  
A spell rippled in the air, and Elgar’nan’s eyes shone red for a moment as he disrupted it with magic.  
“Stop it, Dirthamen. She doesn’t need your help.” God of Vengeance said, not bothering to turn away from the fight he was watching. “Falon’Din. How are things going at Halamshiral?”  


“You failed to stop Solas!” Dorian howled as they rolled on the ground. He grabbed her hair and pulled so hard Lavellan’s eyes watered. “My amatus died!”  
“You let them burn me!” Lavellan shouted, sinking her elbow in his stomach . “You were too slow, and they burned me! You should have done something the moment they seized me at the Exalted Council!”  
She slammed her hand on the ground, calling up the roots from below to seize Dorian. Imprisoned Dorian responded with another nasty spell, which ruptured the veins inside her nose and mouth.  
“It was not the time to yell ‘Tevinter objects!’”, Lavellan screamed, spitting blood on the ground. “You should have saved me! I thought we were friends!”  
“I thought so, too, but it was before you let me believe you were dead! For two years! Friends don’t do that to each other!”  
“Friends don’t force friends back to something they hated! I never wanted to be Inquisitor and you know it! Being Inquisitor was as hard for me as being the perfect son was for you!”  
Dorian’s face crumbled, and he sat on the ground, hiding his face in his hands.  
“I know it wasn’t your fault, not really. But the Bull died.” he said, his voice breaking. “He died, and now I’m all _alone_.”  
Lavellan looked at Dorian, and wiped her bleeding nose on the back of her hand. Ignoring her aching limbs, she released him from imprisonment, and pulled the mage into tight hug.  
“You are bleeding on my robes.” Dorian managed to say. “It’s barbaric and disgusting. It seems that your fancy Evanuris company hasn’t been able to change you too much.”  
“I’m Dalish savage, Dorian.” Lavellan said gently, holding him. “What else you would expect?”  
He let out a deep breath, his body softening in her grasp.  
“Nothing else.” Dorian said softly, and there was peace between them.

\--

“Now that the excitement is over, I’d like to speak about me, and real problems.” Falon’Din stated after Elgar’nan left with his people and Dorian. Even though Lavellan held no grudges, Dirthamen was entirely different case. Seeing the dark look he had given to Dorian, she didn’t quite trust his people to escort Dorian through eluvian network to Tevinter.  
“Be my guest.” Lavellan said, spitting blood discreetly in her handkerchief. She had already healed her nose, but sealing the veins inside her mouth had unfortunate side effect which made everything taste like mud. Chili cacao had fixed the taste, but restarted the bleeding. She hated blood magic.  
“I found the image of intruder who put the eggplant outside the camp.” Dirthamen said, his mouth an angry line. “The same person who assaulted you at Crossroads. And Falon’Din told me that there has been accidents in Halamshiral.”  
“It was a disaster.” Falon’Din snapped. “I had finally finished reconstructing the Winter Palace spa into proper elvhen version, and invited Viv to visit. It was the perfect opportunity. She would let her hair down and—“  
“She doesn’t have hair under the hat, you know. She shaves it close to her skull.” Lavellan informed.  
“Oh, Maker.” Falon’Din moaned. “That hat needs to come off.”  
“Since when you have started to swear like shemlen do?” Dirthamen asked, raising his eyebrows.  
“You can’t claim that bald women aren’t arousing!” Falon’Din defended himself. “Do you remember Andruil’s temple dancers after Barindur siege? All ten of them, bald and nubile, limbs glistening with glitter and—“  
“No need to bring up old times.” Dirthamen interrupted his brother.  
“Come on, brother. It’s not like Lavellan was a big fan of chastity. Do you remember foursome at Jader?” Falon’Din asked interestedly from Lavellan. “It was great fun. We should do it again sometime.”  
“I don’t share.” Dirthamen’s voice was cool enough to wither flowers.  
“Yes, I know, you went on and on how much mother’s pimping curse bugged you.” Falon’Din shrugged, turning to explain to Lavellan. “While you were at Elgar’nan’s, I got him drunk. Dirth gets chatty when he’s drunk.”  
“You were talking about Vivienne.” Lavellan said desperately.  
“Yes. I had planned everything to smallest detail. A perfect date. I even kept the stupid cheese wheels on my eyelids because Vivienne is adamant about them making skin look youthful, and I _hate_ cheese.” Falon’Din said darkly. “And then, when I was all prepared to launch my great seduction plan, I opened my eyes. Someone had nailed an overripe banana to the floor, accompanied by several hams. The smell was utterly disgusting. Viv decided to leave at once, and she said that my spa simply isn’t up to Orlesian standards or fit to Divine.”  
“Red Jennies.”, Lavellan said suddenly, and the twins turned to look at her. “This whole thing sounds like Friends of Red Jenny, except they used to be harmless. Their goal was to embarrass nobility, not to hurt people. Or to assassinate them.”  
The twins looked grim. To them, embarrassment wasn’t any better than death, but actually worse.  
Looking at his brother, Falon’Din said seriously:  
“I’m starting to look like a fool in front of my servants and Viv, and it can’t be. This needs to stop, and you have to help me out, brother.”  
“Of course I will.” Dirthamen promised solemnly. “Whatever you need, brother.”  
“Good. I’m going to throw a party, and you’ll be my wingman, so I can finally bed Viv and get this odd butterfly-like feeling out of my system.”, Falon’Din announced.  
“That is not what I had in mind.” Dirthamen replied, clearing his throat.  
“You promised. You are always going on about how family should assist each other, and you still owe me for not taking my side when mother led attack to my temple.”, Falon’Din said sharply. “Helping me out for one night in such simple thing is hardly equal to fact _you_ lured me to a trap, and let others hurt me. My own _brother_ betrayed me.”  
Lavellan grimaced inwardly. By Void, Falon’Din was playing dirty.  
“I’m not asking much. Help me to win Viv, and I swear in mother’s name that I consider the matter between us settled.” Falon’Din placed a hand over his heart.  
Dirthamen closed his eyes, shook his head lightly and then looked at Falon’Din.  
“If you insist.” he said, his teeth gritted together. “But I demand that oath from you, brother. This will settle any grievances over the matter.”  
“Agreed.” Falon’Din nodded. “Don’t look so grim. I’ll ask Viv to leave her ugliest followers home. I’m not unreasonable. If you have to take one for the team and distract them with sex so I can have my way with Viv, I’d prefer you actually got through it. We have a reputation to uphold. After all, we called ourselves—“  
_“Don’t say it.”_ , Dirthamen snapped.  
“You are a bit uptight.” Falon’Din remarked. “Are you certain this relationship thing is good for you? You seem constantly stressed these days.”  
“I wonder why.” Lavellan said dryly, crossing her arms over her chest.  
“I wonder it too.” Falon’Din shrugged. “But Dirthamen, I’ll see you on Wednesday at the party. Like the Orlesian Chevaliers say, bro’s before hoes.”  



	4. Not you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old ghost(s) come to haunt Lavellan.

“I’m starting to think we simply shouldn’t leave the house.” Lavellan told Dirthamen as they sat on a window seat, watching the sea. “The people outside are mad.”  
“I agree.” Dirthamen nodded and reached for teapot to pour for himself.   
“It would solve a lot of problems.” Lavellan continued as she sipped her tea. “Human cultists would die eventually. Sylaise’s followers would find something else to do instead of bearing grudges towards me. Inquisition would be forgotten. But I would miss the food at Elgar’nan’s.”  
“Father serves a fine table, but it’s nothing you couldn’t do.”, Dirthamen remarked, and his eyes were smiling above the rim of his mug.   
“Flatterer.”, Lavellan shook her head with a smile. “There is a dessert I’d like to try to make for you, but he refuses to give me the recipe.”  
“Father has his quirks.” Dirthamen said. “They keep him busy and entertained. It’s something he picked up when he pretended to be a noble to get mercenary jobs for the company. I think it amuses him to watch his people trying to fill one impossible or peculiar demand after another. The habit used to drive mother insane.”  
“My mother left wood chips on the floor in our aravel, and it used to make my father batty. He would nag about the importance of keeping a clean house, and mother just smiled, starting another carving like she hadn’t heard a thing. But he still brought nice pieces to her from the hunts, even though he knew they would turn into mess.” Lavellan chuckled. “That’s what people do. They drive each other a bit insane, and trust other traits will make up for it.”  
“I would have taken wood chips instead of you dying.” Dirthamen remarked dryly. “But at least you didn’t do it this time. You merely fell in a waterfall, drifted in a river and engaged in a fight with Tevinter magister.”  
“He insulted you and Falon’Din.” Lavellan said calmly. “Even though Falon’Din can be irritable, he’s _our_ headache, and he genuinely loves you. I wouldn’t listen people slander that. Besides, I think the fight was needed in some odd way.”  
“I’m not always sure if brotherly love is a good thing. Falon’Din is having a hard time adjusting to your presence. I think the whole thing with Vivienne might be driven by that.”  
“Bro’s before hoes?” Lavellan raised her eyebrows with amusement.  
“Precisely.” Dirthamen replied. “He was ranting about the subject while you were at Elgar’nan’s.”  
Leaning against the wall, he continued thoughtfully:   
“It’s different, of course. There used to be just two of us, and even when Evanuris were at the height of our power, we still stayed together. Father likes you, and it annoys Falon’Din. He wants to be praised for his choices, too, but I don’t know if he truly cares about Vivienne or is he merely wanting attention for choosing an impossible pursuit.”  
“Vivienne is complicated person who isn’t easiest to like, but if anyone could manage Falon’Din, it would be her.”, Lavellan said with unshakeable faith. “She has always liked challenges.”  
“I didn’t mean that. Father would never agree to acknowledge a shemlen as Falon’Din’s consort. His shovel talk was deadly enough for you, and you were one of Mythal’s chosen instead of a slave or a human.” Dirthamen said. “Elgar’nan would ignore the whole relationship, at best. At worst… It’s not a pleasant topic to talk about.”  
“He changed his mind about me. The same thing could happen to Vivienne.” Lavellan resisted.  
“I doubt it, especially if Falon’Din was telling the truth. He claims father is building a nursery in his palace.” Dirthamen said, sneaking a careful glance at Lavellan.  
Lavellan poured herself another mug calmly.   
“What?” she asked, feeling amused at Dirthamen’s wary expression. “It’s nothing new. In my clan, everyone was always harping about babies, especially if there was magic in the bloodline. My mother used to nag about it regularly, especially whenever one of her friends became a grandmother. But I would imagine your wingman pursuits would have given him hordes of grandchildren in past eons.”  
“Children, acknowledged or not, would have been politically bad move. Mother made sure we knew It.”, Dirthamen replied. “And the society was different. There never were many children among the upper classes. With immortality, there was no need for recreation like among the Dalish.”  
“I pity you.” Lavellan said lightly. “It was one of the more pleasant First’s jobs. Slipping ‘for a walk in a forest’ to preserve the elven race and rebuild the empire whenever clans met. Very patriotic. One drunk Second at Arlathvhen actually shouted ‘For the lost Dales’, and I laughed until my stomach ached. The poor girl wasn’t thrilled.”  
“I could do that, if you wanted?” Dirthamen suggested innocently. “To honor your culture and beliefs?”  
“I think it would be best if we left the culture and beliefs out of our relationship.” Lavellan said. “Because I doubt Falon’Din truly carried a sickly deer to Beyond from sheer goodness in his heart when you were first separated and you subdued the supposed ravens Fanim and Harel.”  
“Actually, he was chasing a desire demon.”, Dirthamen admitted. “And they weren’t ravens. They were spirits of Fear and Deceit.”  
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” Lavellan said, shaking her head as she snuggled against him. “Ancient elves. There is no trusting you.”  


Not going out, however, didn’t solve some problems with unwanted company. Lavellan was weeding her vegetable patch on the roof and enjoying the sun. And the view. Especially the view. Dirthamen was building her a pool to grow blood lotus.

He stood on the roof, and water pulled from the sea floated above him. Dirthamen had thrown his shirt away and moisture glistened on his skin as he broke the bonds between salt and water with magic. With forceful gestures, he separated from one to another, guiding sweet, desalinated water to pond and salt to jar waiting on the ground. The spell required great deal of energy; Lavellan could feel the heat meters away. She appraised that the same amount of mana could have been used to vanquish half-dozen red templars. But unlike templars, this task proved an opportunity for admiration.

“It’s more like opportunity for ogling.” Solas said in her mind.  
“I’m sure Dirthamen doesn’t mind.” Lavellan said. “Just look at shoulder blades moving under his skin when he raises his arms. Not ridiculously big muscles like Qunari. Sleek yet strong. _Nice_.”  
Lavellan hugged her knees, giving up the pretence of weeding when there were much better entertainment to be had. She watched him, thinking how it felt like to cling to those shoulders when lovely desperation bloomed inside her, or how it felt like when his hands slipped under her tunic, curling around her breast.  
“Lust is not love.” Solas said sharply. “I don’t remember you acting like teenage boy, vhenan, when we were together.”  
“I’m not your vhenan, Solas, and there is nothing wrong with lusting after my love.” Lavellan remarked. “Besides, how would you know? You always told me how we shouldn’t and withdrew. Any proclamation of desire would have made me look like a fool even in my eyes. Nobody wants to be ashamed in these matters.”  
“There might be some merit in your words.” Solas allowed with soft sigh. “But still, this is not you.”  
“You can’t know that.” Lavellan disagreed. “I find it perfectly reasonable to appreciate fruits of my labours. Do you really think I would bother with vegetable patch, fishing and all that cooking three times a day if it wasn’t so good for him? He’s healthy, hale and much better looking than Falon’Din these days.”  
Solas didn’t answer, and Lavellan was pleased that the interruption was evidently over when he said:   
“Mythal says you have performed excellently in this last part of your task.”  
Lavellan’s eyes widened as his words registered in her mind.  
“Dirthamen!” she cried out in panic.

Lavellan didn’t consider herself a type who cried easily. Her deaths had hardened her in that account, and Lavellan had always preferred grim jokes instead of tears. But this time she couldn’t help it.   
“What is it, gaidhalas?” Dirthamen asked urgently, holding her by shoulders. “Are you hurt?”  
His magic swirled around them, searching for a reason for her sudden breakdown.   
“Solas said—“, Lavellan began, choking on her tears and trying again: “I was arguing with Solas. About ogling you. He was being a prick.”  
“Not surprising.” Dirthamen muttered, pulling her into his arms. “Go on, Roshan.”  
“He kept saying it wasn’t like me, and I disagreed. I thought he was just being jealous and annoying, and I pointed out that desire wasn’t openly discussed subject between him and I. But then he said it again, adding that…”  
Lavellan drew a shuddering breath. Her eyes were red-rimmed and forlorn as she looked at Dirthamen and said:   
“He told Mythal is pleased how well I have performed in last part of my task. None of this is real. I’m not real, and you have been fooled just like the others, and I can’t bear it. I can’t bear it.”  
She broke in flood of tears.   
“I was happy.” Lavellan whispered, a helpless noise escaping from her throat. “But it was just a lie.”  
“No.”, Dirthamen’s voice was firm and angry. “Listen to me, Roshan. They are playing mind games with you, saying the very things which trigger you and make you doubt everything. With Vir’Abelasan binding you, it’s easiest thing in the world to find out what you fear and let you add the missing pieces, making it worse than they ever could. Did Solas say I’ve been fooled? That this isn’t real? Or did he just compliment you for a job well done?”  
“Complimented.” Lavellan’s reply was muffled against his shoulder.  
“Roshan, you can’t let them make you doubt. It is true what we have. I love you. You love me. None of this is mother’s doing, but ours. If she sent her sentinels to attack you with weapons drawn, you would see it as an assault towards you, not your own fault. This is no different. This is the warfare I’m most familiar with.” Dirthamen spoke fast. “Believe me, Roshan. They only try to hurt you.”  
“I try, but it’s hard with Vir’Abelasan. What if she does what she did at Ghilan’nain’s? When she lured me from home and I woke up in a dungeon, and the Well took over my will?” Lavellan’s panic started to rise again. “Can she do it? Or can she just talk through the Well?”  
“Do you remember the first time I took you here? When we had an argument and you yelled at me for making dramatic exit?” Dirthamen asked, stroking her hair in soothing manner. “I told you that I had a plan to free you from Vir’Abelasan. It still lacks some components, but a shortcut can be made. In few weeks, your mind and heart will be safe. You just have to trust me.”  
“I do trust you.” Lavellan said. “But I don’t trust them. Or my own mind, if it’s someone else’s playground.”  
Wiping her wet face on her sleeve, she said:   
“It’s best if you don’t tell me how you are going to do it. I’m not a fan of lies, but if I don’t know how you are going to counteract the Well, neither will they.”  



	5. Vir'Abelasan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirthamen figures out how to unbind Mythal's servant from Vir'Abelasan. Test subjects are required, and Falon'Din accidentally commits an unforgivable mistake.

“I will tell you nothing.” a haughty, golden-eyed man bound to chair spat blood on the floor.   
“It’s hardly a problem. Our master isn’t keen on speaking in general, you know.” Deceit said conversationally as he took a syringe from table. He tapped the barrel lightly, watching the red liquid swirling inside.   
“It still sings.” Fear remarked. “Red lyrium is remarkable. It _hungers_ , Abelas.”  
Their prisoner trashed against bindings, attempting to break free, but Fear was ready for it. She locked her arm around Abelas’ head, keeping him in place while Deceit pushed the needle through his skin. The scream when red lyrium was injected into vein made Fear’s ears ring.   
“Are you certain the right dosage was right?” Fear asked as Abelas’ chin dropped.  
“He is eleventh or twelfth one we’ve captured, isn’t he? Mythal is going to run out of bound servants soon.” Deceit remarked. He looked appraisingly at Abelas, whose naked body was starting to glow faintly with red as the lyrium spread inside his veins. Beads of sweat rose on Abelas’ temples as he groaned, trying to suppress the pain inside him.   
“It’s time to inform our master.” he decided.   
Fear nodded.

“How do you feel, Abelas?” a cool voice asked. He opened his eyes, but couldn’t quite focus his gaze. There were three forms before him.   
“It burns. Everything burns.” he whispered through parched lips. He wanted the Well. He yearned for the coldness of Mythal’s touch. It would soothe the ravaging flames inside him.   
“The runes form the same pattern as on others. Cut the antimagic field, Fear.” the man in velvet robes said to woman. Suddenly the suffocating presence blocking Abelas’ magic was gone, and he let out a sob from sheer relief as the Well rose to shield him the singing parasite crawling inside him. Mythal had him, and he would not fail. His body convulsed as the blue runes of binding lit up on his skin, drawing power from the Vir’Abelasan, and for a moment, his mind was clear. Clear enough to recognize the man standing in front of him.

He had dark circles under his eyes, but the look of cold determination ruled the Keeper of Secrets when he stepped forwards and cupped his hands on Abelas’ sweaty forehead. Even though Dirthamen’s hands hadn’t yet touched his skin, Abelas recoiled backwards, not wanting this. He had been mere recruit in the temple when Mythal still lived, not honoured to accompany his lady when she met with the Evanuris, but Abelas knew the stories of Falon’Din’s reflection. It was said that Dirthamen’s hunger for knowledge was so vast that he laid in his temple in a form of giant snake, wrapped around crystal globes which held all memories he had stolen. Abelas’ own mother had frightened him with stories of empty husks of People whom Dirthamen had taken. They roamed the dark corners of Elvhenan, hungering for living warmth and the spirits they had lost. Only emotion left in them was envy towards the People still living because the Silent God took everything else from his victims in his fruitless search of secrets. Fear’s teeth glinted in the lamplight, and the creature looked pleased, almost elevated.   
“Still.”, the Evanuris said, and there was power in the word. Unable to move away, Abelas wailed helplessly as cold hands pressed against his temples. He called for Mythal.   
“Silence.”, Dirthamen spoke again, and unfamiliar magic sneaked inside Abelas’ mind quietly like a snake in the grass, twisting around the voices of Well like strangling vine. Sentinel’s mouth opened in soundless cry, but there was no sound.

Abelas couldn’t think. He felt like a glass on the verge of shattering under pressure. Red lyrium still burned inside him and if he could have moved, he would have torn his own skin to get rid of it. Dirthamen’s magic was dark and empty, like starless night, taking away everything and giving back nothing. The voices of Well were nothing but a fading whispers inside his mind, and Abelas was in panic. It had never been like this. It was not supposed to be like this. He had trained for four hundred years in preparation to partake the Well and become Mythal’s in life and death. He was no shemlen, ill-prepared and ignorant, but the clarity of Mythal’s words was escaping him. It was being torn out of him, bit by bit. What frightened him most were the sheer amount of voices. There had never been so many before.   
“Master. It’s getting late.” Deceit said. “Do you wish me to escort Lavellan to your brother’s palace?”  
“I’m almost finished.” Dirthamen replied, not turning his gaze away from Abelas. “I will attend Roshan myself shortly.”  
“I will make the necessary preparations.” Fear said and left the room.  
_Lavellan,_ the strangled voices of the Well cried in Abelas’ ears, barely more than a whisper. _If you fall, she is the last of us._  
A sudden increase in pressure made him bite his tongue. There was pulling motion, and suddenly everything shattered. The red lyrium, Mythal’s cool touch, even the eerie quiet of Dirthamen’s magic. Free of his bindings, Abelas fell to his knees.   
“It’s done.” Dirthamen said coolly.   
A terrible understanding dawned on Abelas as he tried to reach for his goddess, and found nothing.   
“You broke it.”, Abelas looked at Dirthamen, tears rising to his eyes. “You should have killed me before breaking my oaths to Mythal.”  
The Keeper of Secrets smiled. His smile was proud yet there was softness in it, like the blasphemy of breaking a sacred oath was something to cherish. Oh, how Abelas hated him.   
“Administer the antidote and monitor him to make sure there are no ill effects. If anything unusual happens, inform me at once.” Dirthamen commanded his servants.   
Deceit took another syringe from the table, and Abelas barely felt as the needle pricked his skin again.   
“Sweet dreams, Abelas. Dream of new name.” the demon said.  
Roshan, Abelas thought, fighting against sleep. His priesthood and sacred oath had been stolen from him, taken by force against his will, but he was still Mythal’s. He would always be Mythal’s, and he would not allow the last of them to fall. Lavellan might be a quickling ghost, but she was the last embodiment of Mythal’s will, and the thief would not have her.   
His eyes grew heavy, and he saw Dirthamen leaving the room. His servants stayed behind, and Abelas made up his mind. He would rest… And then he would find Lavellan and stop Dirthamen’s plot before it was too late. Lavellan had no hope of escaping Keeper of Secrets on her own.

\--

“I have serpents of decay and sadness, plus the serpent-entwined dagger. I believe I win, daughter.” Elgar’nan said.   
“You haven’t seen my hand yet.” Lavellan replied coolly, pretending to study her cards.  
“I know what you have. A song of temerity and knight of sacrifice, knight of roses.” Elgar’nan smiled. He watched something behind her, but Lavellan was smarter than to turn again. She knew by now that Elgar’nan was prone to cheat in Wicked Grace, sneaking a scrying spell to get look at her cards the moment her attention waned.  
“Not very good guess, father. We played knight of roses three turns ago, or have you forgotten already? I would think you would have gotten better at this in four weeks.” Lavellan clicked her tongue in fake disapproval.  
“Father reads too many romances.” Dirthamen’s familiar voice noted behind her back. “I’m more like an Angel of Death ending your game, not a knight of roses.”  
Lavellan’s heart leaped with joy, and she forgot all about her cards, dropping them facedown at the table.   
“I’ve missed you so much.” she said, hugging him tightly.   
For immortals, a month might have been nothing but a blink of time, but for Lavellan, these weeks at Elgar’nan’s palace had felt long indeed. Necessary to let Dirthamen work the solution for the Well in peace, but there had been no word since, and she had been worried. Working to steal a sworn servant of another Evanuris was not exactly a safe task to attempt. Even though Elgar’nan had been gracious host, and his daily offerings of blue dessert had been much appreciated, it was not the same thing as being at home with Dirthamen. She had spoken with Falon’Din daily to offer advice about dating Vivienne and God of Death promised to tell if something happened to Dirthamen, but it was a relief to see her love again. She sank her fingers in Dirthamen’s hair, reaching for him with her magic to be certain he was fine and not hurt.   
“You look exhausted, vhenan. Are you all right?”  
“Everything is fine, Roshan. This day was good, and tomorrow will be perfect.” he said, and his smile was proud yet soft. Lavellan’s breath got caught in her throat as she understood what he meant. He had succeeded in his task. Tomorrow she would be free of the Well.  


Elgar’nan watched his younger son’s aura blazing with love as he left, taking his Roshan through eluvian. Dirthamen had claimed that they had promised to attend some shemlen party Falon’Din was throwing, but Elgar’nan was not convinced. It was far more likely they’d make it to Crossroads and that was it. Those leather pants his son called “his bardic outfit” were tight enough that Elgar’nan was certain magic had to be involved in pulling them on, and Lavellan’s expression upon seeing him reminded Elgar’nan of Andruil on hunt. Her eyes had darkened a shade or two, while the tips of her ears twitched ever so slightly, and Dirthamen had noticed it as well. Oh, the boy was going to be hunted, hunted with _glee_ , and he had done it on purpose. Young people and their antics.   
“They are so much in love, Senris.” Elgar’nan sighed sentimentally. “It’s so sweet that it’s almost disgusting.”  
“You are partially to blame, my lord.” Senris said dryly. “If you wished to calm your son’s passions, dosing your daughter-in-law with _fellenaste_ pudding isn’t the way to go.”  
“But it’s working. She hasn’t died in months, not even when she fell in a waterfall.” Elgar’nan pointed out.  
“They were weekly doses, my lord. Like I told you four weeks ago, daily doses might have unexpected side effects we can’t foresee, and I still disagree with your decision to administer them. Shemlen elves have fragile constitutions and—“  
“The dying thing was interfering with _everything_ , side effects or not. I’m never going to get grandchildren if Lavellan perishes in two decades like shemlen do. I don’t think Dirthamen would be open to new bridal candidates any time soon, knowing how solitary he has always been, and I’ve grown fond of this one. She reminds me of Mythal. A woman needs spunk to survive in this family. “, Elgar’nan announced.   
Senris snorted.   
“It’s not a joke, Senris.” Elgar’nan said strictly.  
“Of course not, my lord.”

\--

Lavellan had never seen so many elves at the same place. And she had never seen elves outnumber humans before. Some of them were ancients; she could tell by sheer size of them, but most were Dalish or city elves. She felt something stirring in her heart as she watched elves walking leisurely in the gardens of Halamshiral, and she squeezed Dirthamen’s hand a bit tighter. Lavellan still had her doubts about her decision to help Falon’Din conquer Halamshiral, but Friend of the Dead had given them this, and it was something.   
_“It is a beginning.”_ Solas admitted gruffly in her mind.  
“How there are so many?” Lavellan asked from Dirthamen. “I thought they would have died during fall.”  
“Falon’Din is a benevolent patron to those who bow to him.” Dirthamen replied. “When you warned us about Wolf’s trap, we came here, and shielded the People with our power when the Veil came down.”  
Lavellan shook her head wordlessly as she accepted a glass from a servant. A human servant holding a tray. The world had become a truly strange place after the Veil fell.   
“Why the servants are human?” she asked.   
“Falon’Din is playing a power game with the Chantry.” Dirthamen replied. “His armies hold all of the Dales and they are going to march to the gates of Val Royeaux any day now. Divine Victoria and a group of Chantry traditionalists have arrived to plead with him on behalf of the empress. The party is merely a stage for peace negotiations.”  
“I’m not certain if I should feel sorry for Orlais or not.” Lavellan admitted, taking a generous sip from her glass. “It’s unfair to pit the humans against Falon’Din, but the same chevaliers bowing to him now had a graduation ritual of hunting down and slaying elves in the alienage. And Exalted Council murdered me because of Solas.”  
Unthinkingly, she turned to look towards the balcony doors opening to garden.   
_“I’m sorry, vhenan.”_ Solas’ voice was heavy with regrets.  
“I know you are, but it isn’t enough, Solas.” Lavellan said quietly. “It would be easier if you stopped calling me vhenan. That part of my life is gone, just like you are.”  
“Indeed.” Dirthamen said firmly. “Roshan, do you allow me to quiet Solas before he spoils our entire evening?”  
Lavellan nodded, uncertain of what he was going to do because the priests of Well weren’t exactly separate from her, and she wasn’t sure if Solas was going to agree any kind of truce.  
Dirthamen took a small case from his pocket and opened it. Then, with a flair of stage magician, he threw it in the air and the little box exploded, raining glitter all over her and those unfortunate enough to stand close.  
“Oh, no.”, Lavellan laughed as glitter fell on her. She drew little sparkles inside her lungs as she breathed, they were in her hair and on her skin and clothes, and she could already feel the displaced sensation of lovely intoxication starting to creep in.  
“I think I can’t focus enough to even hear the Well.”, Lavellan admitted as he pulled her closer.   
“Excellent.”, Dirthamen said. “Let me work the spell which separates Well from you. Mother will have no idea of what happens, since I’ll keep you well distracted.”  
“Will you?” Lavellan queried, her lips curving in a smile.  
“I will.” he promised, and emptied his glass of wine before pulling her towards stairs.

There were guards in the corridors, but they let Lavellan and Dirthamen pass without questions. He led her to separate wing, where several gilded doors opened towards west.   
“I remember this place. It was the royal wing, where Empress Celene kept a naked chevalier tied to her bed.” Lavellan remarked, feeling curiously light. Like she was floating.   
“Falon’Din has redecorated. It’s one of his quirks. He switches rooms every time he plans to take a new lover.” Dirthamen said, kneeling at the door. He whispered quiet words under his breath, and Lavellan heard a click from the lock.   
“It’s truly splendid, don’t you think?” Dirthamen asked as he pushed open the door to reveal a sumptuous bedroom. Lavellan looked at four-poster bed with heavy velvet curtains and the soft snowfleur pelts someone had placed neatly near the fireplace, and she couldn’t keep a straight face.   
“It’s terribly cliché.” she said, a giggle escaping from her lips. “Straight from Randy Dowager, five fluttering scarves.”  
Dirthamen laughed, ushering her inside.   
“I know. He just wouldn’t listen.”  
He snapped his fingers, and a fake fire began to burn in fireplace. Lavellan broke down in helpless bout of giggles.   
“Come here, vhenan.” Dirthamen called sweetly, his eyes glinting with laughter as he laid down on the soft pelts.  
“I don’t know if I can.”, Lavellan told him honestly. “I might die of sheer embarrassment.”  
“If I placed a rose between my teeth, would it help?” Dirthamen asked innocently. “There are some on the table, easy to reach from here.”  
“No!” Lavellan exclaimed, hurrying to him as fast as she could. “Please no.”  
“You are terribly unwelcoming to romantic notions.” Dirthamen said as he caught her and deftly rolled them over, ending with Lavellan under him.  
“I knew there was a reason why I never really connected with your brother.” Lavellan said.  
“I thought it might be the case when you worked for him. Even though I was still jealous.” Dirthamen told her as he placed his hands on her temples. She felt the familiar feeling of his magic wrapping her around, entangling with cool sensation she always connected to Well in her thoughts.  
“You were?” Lavellan arched her eyebrows.  
“Dreadfully.” he swore solemnly. “I wanted you for myself. It was the templars, you know.”  
“Templars? At Lake Calenhad?”  
“Yes. The moment when you called me idiot, told me to run and turned to face the templars.” Dirthamen smiled as he traced the first runes on Lavellan’s skin. “You saw _me_. And I’m more than pleased to return the favour. When the spell is finished, gaidhalas, you will be you. Not Mythal’s vessel.”  
“How long it will take?”  
“The spell takes an hour or two to cast, and it will progress on its own. It will be over by the morning.”,   
“It will hurt. There is no way around it, but I’ll make it as easy as I can. Glitter is slower but kinder way to distract mother than other options I’ve tested.” Dirthamen added, returning his hands on either side of her face.  
Lavellan drew a deep breath, steeling herself.   
“Do what you need to. I trust you. I have endured worse.” Lavellan said and closed her eyes. She felt the softness of Falon’Din’s stupid pelts, the warmth of his body and the quiet presence of his magic. The ridiculous fake fire crackled in the fireplace, and she was ready.  
_“Sleep_.”, Dirthamen told her, and his voice sent her deep in the Fade.

\--

She was standing on the edge of abyss, but she couldn’t make herself look down. A million voices screamed in her head, and so many of them were new ones. She fancied she could hear the young sentinel, Abelas’ apprentice Rashenor among them, as well as Solas. They were angry, frantic, hurt.   
Lavellan held hands on her ears, trying to block the noise, but it didn’t help. The cacophony was overwhelming, and she couldn’t make it stop. The voices rose, keening, until they reached a breaking point and white-hot pain exploded in Lavellan’s mind. She staggered, holding her head with both hands, and only narrowly evaded the emptiness ahead.   
“You must not fall.” Solas shouted, and his voice cut her like a knife.

Time after time, the voices rose, urging her to do something but she couldn’t make out the words. She was half-dazed from pain and the noise, much like when she had first drunk from the Well.   
Then she heard something else, a whisper. Quiet words, so different from the loud agony of the priests. Lavellan curled into a ball, trying not to move, holding her head. She recognized this voice, too, and it soothed her hurt even though it couldn’t make the pain stop.   
“I will wait this out.” she whispered back. “I will wait this out, by the hour.”  
And she endured.

\--

“This is boring. Can’t we kill him already?” Fear asked, cleaning her nails with a knife.  
“You know master wants this one to live until he’s sure Lavellan is fine.” Deceit replied.  
Abelas snorted.   
“Your master is wrong.” he forced the words out, looking down at his nose. “Vir’Abelasan is not for the uninitiated, and a shemlen elf like Lavellan was never meant to be the last. Every servant whose life you stole is in the Well now, and she does not know how to control them. It will end in disaster.”  
“If you think we’ll fall for old trick like enigmatic information, you’re wrong.” Deceit informed him coolly.   
“There is nothing enigmatic about it. Vir’Abelasan is like children’s game with chairs. As long as the music plays, we dance, and when the music ends, everyone runs to find a seat, otherwise they’ll fail. If your master takes away the music, every soul inside Vir’Abelasan will rush to only available body.” Abelas said in slowly, pained manner. “There are thirty generations of Mythal’s finest and brightest in the Well. Including Fen’Harel, who walked among Evanuris as their equal. Do you truly think that someone like Lavellan can hold out against them?”  
“I’m still not convinced.” Fear announced.   
“You will believe when it is not Lavellan behind her eyes when she wakes up.”, Abelas said tiredly.  
Fear and Deceit looked at each other.   
“You will watch the prisoner.” Deceit said to Fear and left the room in a hurry.  
Abelas decided he would count to three hundred before making his escape. Two of Dirthamen’s lackeys were too much to beat but one of them… Abelas was not the leader of Mythal’s sentinels for nothing.

\--

 

Her head broke the surface of water, and she gasped for air. There was something shiny... yes, the lamps. And a blessed silence. For a moment, Lavellan just floated in the water, weightless, and blinked the water away from her eyelashes. Her eyes slowly focused on her surroundings. They were still in Falon’Din’s horrible bedroom, and she could hear the sounds of celebration coming from the outside. Dirthamen was in the pool with her, holding her up.   
“I couldn’t get you to wake up.”, Dirthamen said. His clothes were dripping wet, and he looked upset. There were rose petals floating on the bath, and several of them were glued on them both. “The spell worked, but you wouldn’t wake up. I tried everything. Then I thought it was the glitter, perhaps.”  
“Vhenan.” she said weakly. “Wet rose petals feel disgusting. They are slimy.”  
“You still don’t have any appreciation to romantic notions.” Dirthamen shook his head, trying to summon a small smile. He managed it, but Lavellan could tell the he wasn’t all right.

Dirthamen lifted her to his arms and rose from the pool. He peeled the wet clothes off her with magic, and then himself. The leather pants were too snug, and in the end he lost his patience and simply ripped them off, throwing them to other end of the room.   
“It’s a pity.” Lavellan said. “I planned to do that. “  
“You shouldn’t exert yourself just yet.” Dirthamen told her and lowered her on Falon’Din’s bed. “How are you feeling?”  
“I’m fine.” Lavellan said. She still felt somehow sore, like something had been torn away, but she could not feel the Well. Her mouth tasted funny. Sour, but somehow familiar. A bit like royal elfroot.   
“You lost consciousness and I couldn’t tell if the spell had worked. None of others did that.” Dirthamen said. “They all stayed awake. Maybe it was the red lyrium in blood circulation.”  
“Red lyrium?” Lavellan shuddered.  
“I wouldn’t give it to you, opting for glitter instead. Maybe it was what caused the difference.” he said simply. “We all have a face we wish to show, and one we don’t, Roshan. I’m not an exception.”  
“In time, I would know all your faces, Dirthamen.” she requested quietly. “The Well is much more silent now, growing fainter every moment. Soon it will be just me.”  
“I thought it was over.” he admitted, holding her close. “That I had made a mistake, and you would never wake up. That mother’s curse worked, and you would die by my hand. It was unbearable.”  
“If you died, I would come for you.” Dirthamen whispered. “I would.”  
“But I’m not dead.” Lavellan said, sinking her fingers into his hair. “Come here, love.”   


When her mouth sought his, Dirthamen knew he probably shouldn’t, but his heart was still touched by fear and he _needed_ her. The kiss tasted strange, but wonderful. A bit like royal elfroot, a bit like dawn lotus petals. It reminded Dirthamen of something. A party after a battle he had won, but which one? He couldn’t recall. Actually, who cared? He kissed Roshan again.

There was something intoxicating in the taste of her skin, the scent of her. Or maybe it was simply his fear still driving him, but he burned with lust and passion like a living flame. They made love in Falon’Din’s bed, entangled in each other. And for first time in his life, Dirthamen couldn’t summon a clear mind to cast the simple spell her mother had drilled in his mind when he was nothing but a youth. The gesture required was lost in the feel of her skin under his hands, and he forgot all about it when she arched under him, her lips turning cold. He had spent too much mana in that day, and was feeling sensitive, or maybe it was lingering effect from the spell he had cast to remove the well, but Dirthamen could have sworn he felt something change when sweet agony changed into mellow warmth. He just couldn’t tell what it was. And then his peace was suddenly shattered by mental cries of his servants. Something had happened with the prisoner.  


\--

Falon’Din was very bored. The peace talks between Chantry representatives and his people were just a ploy, really, and everyone knew it. It was not his habit to pass a perfectly good party to chitchat with meaningless people.  
He was drawing rude pictures on the draft of peace treaty when his ears caught a sound of glass breaking. Falon’Din, like all other elves, turned towards the window just in time to see his beloved brother’s raven crash against the window.   
“That’s it.”, Falon’Din stood up. “If birds are getting drunk here, it’s time to end it. These negotiations are a waste of a good party. Divine Victoria, if you wish to continue pleading for Orlais, I will hear your list of concessions in my private rooms. Now.”  
He caught a spark of anger mixed with respect in Vivienne’s dark eyes, and Falon’Din smiled. This tactic Lavellan had advised worked nicely. Vivienne was far more appreciative of him now when he had stopped trying to court her and just played politics, rather heavy-handed. Viv was attracted to power, and he had plenty. And angry sex was great.   
“So, how is it?” he asked sweetly. “If your religion has nothing to offer, I fear there is simply no reason not to take Val Royeaux. My Dreamers will crash the walls in a single night, and there is nothing your narrow-minded, leashed mages can do about it.”  
Falon’Din could feel the templars bubbling with barely restrained anger, and he turned his back at the lot, enjoying the superiority as the door opened.   
“Brother.”, Dirthamen greeted him with urgency. He wore a bathrobe – a stolen bathrobe, since Falon’Din recognized it as one of his own – while Lavellan was hastily dressed in a simple white gown Falon’Din had acquired in case Viv wanted to play Andraste and the Maker. Andraste wore a similar one in every triptych he had seen. Damned thieves. But to be honest, they both looked tired.   
“I need your assistance. There is a matter which requires my immediate attention, and someone needs to watch Roshan until the spell is concluded.” Dirthamen said.  
“So you finally found a way to steal a god’s chosen?” Falon’Din asked. “Dangerous idea, brother. But all right. It isn’t my loss, and I never cared about this Andraste Reborn-thing anyway.”  
He smirked at stone-faced shemlen soldiers and placed his hands on Lavellan’s shoulders, nodding to Dirthamen who turned to leave. Falon’Din gestured to his guards to follow his brother. Whatever the issue was, it was probably serious, and Dirth could use some help. His twin looked like death warmed over.   
“So, Viv, how does this add to your list of concessions?” he asked smugly as the door shut behind his brother and guards. “The famed Herald of … Nothing, soon.”  
“I’m not the Herald of Andraste—“, Lavellan began.   
“Maker take you!” a cry emitted behind his back, and Falon’Din turned around.   
A shemlen was leaping towards him, brandishing a glowing lyrium brand, and another was running towards them with a sword drawn. Reflexively, he raised a barrier to meet it, when something impossibly bright exploded in the room. He couldn’t’ see a thing, and the room was filled with screams and shouts. But Falon’Din was no stranger to fight, and he remembered there was an attacker coming from the right. Still blinded by light, he raised another barrier next to his skin and held it tight, casting a mind blast to daze attackers around him.

It was only when Falon’Din felt something thumping against his barriers when he realized that he had dazed Lavellan, too, in a middle of a fight. He looked to right. It was Lavellan's lifeless body sliding against his barrier, and there was blood flowing from the corner of her mouth. Falon’Din looked at a shemlen templar pulling a sword out of her back and cursed.   
“Oh, for Void’s sake.”  
Naturally, it was the moment when Dirthamen and his guards crashed into the room, alerted by noise.

 


	6. See you on other side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Falon'Din is treated unfairly by his family, and he understands Dirthamen and Elgar'nan are mad.  
> Lavellan has an opposite experience with her family.

For once, Falon’Din wished that Dirthamen would shout at him. Or scream. Or cry. Or show any other feeling except the numb silence.

For first week, his twin had waited for her to come back. It was very understandable, Falon’Din agreed. It was not like they didn’t have experience in these matters. Lavellan usually manifested within fifteen minutes after her death, feeling cranky and usually killing her murderer while he still stared at her dead body. Another option, when she had been killed by an Evanuris, was to wait day or two until her location appeared on Dirthamen’s map of stars. But the map of stars was different, now. The line of her life, drawn in russet red and gold, was abruptly cut. There was a dragon flying over chained man, and nothing else.

They held the funeral on next day.

 

The family dinner was odd. There was an empty spot on Dirthamen’s right, and even though Falon’Din tried not to look at it, the empty chair bothered him. But the outcome was inevitable, really. The shemlen didn’t last very long, and Lavellan had been even worse than your average quickling at staying alive.  
“So, when are you leaving?” Elgar’nan asked conversationally.  
“As soon as the dinner is over.” Dirthamen replied. “Dorian Pavus pointed out a Venatori temple in Western Approach where the ritual can be safely contained. Will you do the honours, father?”  
Elgar’nan sighed.  
“Oh, son, I don’t know whether I should be proud of you or expressly deny you to attempt something like this. But I will do it, so it will get done properly. On one condition.”  
“Which is?”  
“When you return, I get to arrange the wedding.”  
“It’s a deal.”  
Falon’Din looked from Elgar’nan to Dirthamen. His family had finally gone mad. There was no other explanation.  
“Isn’t it a bit soon to think about bonding someone?” he asked carefully. “You could be on…” Falon’Din frowned, trying to find the right word since this wasn’t exactly his area of expertise “Rebound. Yes. You are definitely on rebound.”  
Dirthamen ignored him completely. Senris brought a lidded bowl to Elgar’nan, who lifted the lid and looked at it appraisingly.  
“Might be a bit much, don’t you think?”  
“It’s the young lady’s usual portion, my lord.” Senris said with reproach.  
“Are you certain?” Elgar’nan frowned.  
“Yes.” Senris said dryly. “I have personally overseen the preparation of each portion, like you originally instructed. I do not make measuring mistakes.”  
“All right, then.” Elgar’nan shrugged and pushed the bowl to Dirthamen. Falon’Din craned his neck to see better, but it wasn’t anything special, really. Just some kind of blue mousse. Dirthamen looked at it suspiciously and spooned a tiny piece. He put the spoon carefully in his mouth, and Falon’Din could tell the exact moment when he tasted it, because his twin’s magic suddenly flared for a second before Dirthamen quickly restrained it. When Dirthamen looked at Elgar’nan again, his eyes were wide with something… Falon’Din would have called it hope, if his twin hadn’t been somewhat pissed off, too.  
“How much you gave her?” Dirthamen asked sharply.  
“Fifty-eight portions since the Veil fell. Thirty within the last month.” Elgar’nan admitted.  
“Father, if you ever do anything like this behind my back again, I—“  
“I know, I know.” Elgar’nan swept his protest away. “But you can’t say it wasn’t good idea.”  
“Will someone finally tell me what you are talking about?” Falon’Din demanded.  
Dirthamen ignored him, starting to shovel the mousse in his mouth while Elgar’nan considered his demand.  
“No.”, God of Vengeance announced with a shrug. “This whole thing is your fault, after all.”  
“It isn’t!” Falon’Din was offended.  
“It is.”, Elgar’nan disagreed. “Your brother asked you to keep his consort safe. You provoked the shemlen, dazed her, and therefore caused her death. And it didn’t even take you much longer than a hundred heart beats.”  
“I didn’t kill Lavellan!” Falon’Din was aggrieved. “The templar did!”  
“It’s like saying a sword killed someone instead of the person which wields it.”, Elgar’nan remarked calmly.  
“Dirthamen. You can’t really blame me for this.” Falon’Din turned to face his brother, who hadn’t spoken a single word to him after the whole fiasco at the party.  
Dirthamen didn’t pay him any attention.  
“I think he does.” Elgar’nan noted. “And I’m siding with him.”

 

They didn’t ask Falon’Din to come along to whatever idiot thing they were attempting to do, but didn’t stop him, either. In fact, Falon’Din suspected that father might have left the eluvian open on purpose when they left. It was clear to him that Dirthamen wasn’t thinking clearly, and since father was not a voice of reason in this whole thing – more like opposite -, someone had to be.

He tried to think of how to make it right. Falon’Din wasn’t good at admitting mistakes, or begging forgiveness, but Dirthamen was his twin soul. His hurt was real enough to touch, and it made Falon’Din feel really uncomfortable. Even though Dirthamen was prone to sulking, he had never before given the silent treatment to Falon’Din, and it just wasn’t right.

People said that talking usually helped. And Dirth only got chatty when he was drunk. So Falon’Din went to wine cellar and filled a box with best vintages he could find. He could suffer through a monologue about Lavellan if he had to, for Dirthamen’s sake. And maybe women. Yes. But only after Dirthamen was drunk, first. Otherwise he might not be receptive and accept that Falon’Din knew better what was good for him. Nothing erased memories of a woman like more women.

After everything was set up for mentally uplifting “sorry-I-didn’t-save-your-consort-but-lets-pick-a-new-one”-party, Falon’Din left through the eluvian to see what those two madmen, Dirthamen and father, were up to.

 

Trekking through hot desert wasn’t any fun. Falon’Din got sand in his shoes and he had to stop twice to empty them. Things he did for his brother. He was on foul mood when he finally reached a small temple. It wasn’t one of his, or even another Evanuris’, but an ugly Tevinter building made of sandstone. There were awful lot of father’s elite soldiers outside the temple, standing on guard.

As soon as he pushed the doors open, Falon’Din noticed something was wrong. The air tasted like death magic. And he smelled fresh blood. Picking up pace, Falon’Din started to run. Normally, he tried to avoid running as a principle, but if those idiots had tried to work death magic without him… Fenedhis. Why he was only one acting like a responsible adult here? When father tried to raise someone from dead, he usually burned them black and crispy, and Falon’Din doubted that was what Dirthamen wanted for Lavellan. Dirth’s reaction to sadly famous armor episode had been bad enough.

But it was not a resurrection spell which he faced when he reached the inner chamber. It was far worse, and unnerving, because it was a spell Falon’Din didn’t recognize, cast by Lavellan’s dark-skinned shemlen mage. Father’s and Dirthamen’s best mages were supplanting it with more power. But the most alarming thing was that Dirthamen was standing inside a rune circle, and father was pointing a sword at him.  
“Through back or front?” Elgar’nan asked seriously.  
“Front.”, Dirthamen said.  
“That’s my boy.” Elgar’nan’s face softened. With swift, practiced movement he pulled his arm back, then front, and stroke his sword through Dirthamen.

Falon’Din didn’t know if the hideous scream echoing in the chamber came from his own lips, or from his brother’s. It could have been both. The sword was sticking out from Dirthamen’s back, and he was bending down, falling down on one knee. Falon’Din pushed Elgar’nan aside and jumped inside rune circle, catching Dirthamen before he fell on the floor.  
“What in the Void you did, father?” he screamed at Elgar’nan.  
He could feel his twin’s soul leaving, and Falon’Din couldn’t take it. He called upon his power and broke free of his body. He would follow Dirthamen through the farthest edges of Beyond, because it was how it had to be. He couldn’t exist without his brother.  
“Now.”, Elgar’nan commanded the mages.  
The spell activated, and time froze inside the Venatori temple.  
  
\--

As dying went, Lavellan consider herself a professional. She knew how things were supposed to go. First there were various feelings of immense pain – not all ways to go were equal, she had learned – and then everything went dark. She would feel very cold, there was a strong, pulling sensation, and then the darkness shattered and she floated near her previous body, feeling extremely annoyed.

But this time was different. When Lavellan opened her eyes, she knew something was seriously wrong. Very, very seriously wrong, because she heard her mother’s happy voice exclaiming:  
“Look, Mahanon! Your sister is finally waking up!”  
Lavellan sat up on and she had barely time to draw a breath before someone caught her in a crushing hug.  
“Here you are, my baby halla. What took you so long?”  
Lavellan had forgotten his voice, but she remembered his scent, and the childish endearment.  
“Father?” she asked, but then she realized he had to be a demon. Of course he was a demon, because when she looked around her, whole Clan Lavellan was there. Her brother Mahanon with his wife Seranni and their little daughter Arianni, her father and her mother. From the open aravel door, she could hear Keeper Deshanna shouting at someone.  
“Be gone.” she shouted to her father, quickly crawling backwards in bed to get away from him. “How dare you wear their faces, demon? They are dead!”  
Her mother and father exchanged worried glances and father took a step forwards, pushing his hand out like trying to calm bewildered halla.  
“Roshan. Calm down. It was just a dream. You had a bad dream.”  
Lavellan shook her head.  
“You are not real.” she said. “I saw you die. I buried you. And you”, she pointed at her mother and Mahanon and his family “you all were killed by Duke of Wycome when I was Inquisitor.”  
“You are frightening the little one.” the demon wearing the face of her brother said disapprovingly. “Auntie is not feeling well, Arianni. She’s talking foolish things. It’s best if you go out with mamae for a moment.”  
Seranni nodded and took Arianni’s hand, hurrying out. They closed the aravel door behind them.  
“You are not real.” Lavellan said again, calling up a barrier to shield herself. “Leave me, demons. “  
“You should eat. Drink. Hunger can make people say odd things.” her mother said worriedly, taking a wooden cup from the table.  
“Yes, little halla. Take a drink. You are delirious.” her father said firmly. “It will make you feel much better.”  
Lavellan recoiled. Whatever was in that cup, she wasn’t going to take it. As the demons went, these ones were not very smart.  
“I’m leaving.” she said, making up her mind. “You have no right to wear their faces. “  
  
There was a knock on the aravel door, and Mahanon peeked outside. A relief spread on her brother’s face as he opened the door wide to admit a guest. Lavellan thought her heart was going to stop when she recognized the man climbing up the aravel steps. He wore the vestments of First and carried a tray with five tiny cups. They were made from ironbark...  
“Ah, Solas. So good for you to come. Roshan woke up, just like you told, but she’s not herself.” the demon looking like her father said. The demon pretending to be her mother was secretly wiping tears on her sleeve.  
“It’s very common for mind to suffer ailments after long sleep.” Solas said in calming manner. “Seranni already told me that Roshan was having trouble. I have prepared a soothing herbal drink which will help.”  
“You!” Lavellan shook her head wildly. “You hate the Dalish!”  
“It’s common for people to have problems separating the waking world from Fade.” Solas said kindly. “You are suffering from lingering effects of uthenera, Roshan. You are confused, but you must think reasonably and stop hurting your family with thoughtless words.”  
“You are dead.” Lavellan said in trembling voice, pointing an accusing finger at Solas. “I killed you myself!”  
Solas handed the tray to demon-mother and sighed, turning to address demon-father and Mahanon.  
“Sometimes sickness can make people delinquent. If you hold her, I will administer the remedy.”  
They turned to face her with the most horrifying kind of resolution etched on their faces; the look of firm kindness.  
“Dirthamen! Help me!" Lavellan screamed, starting to panic as Mahanon tried to grab her.  
Even though he didn’t make a habit of visiting her dreams in the Fade, saying that she should have secrets of her own, he was usually somewhere near. The demons wearing the faces of her family looked very disturbed, as they should.  
“You need help, daughter.” the-demon-her-father almost begged as he and Mahanon held her down with unnatural strength.  
“Dirthamen! Ma halani!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, kicking and screaming.  
“Calm down and let Solas help you.” Mahanon pleaded as Solas wrenched her jaws open by force.  
Lavellan spat at his face. She called her magic, creating a mind blast which sent them all sprawling, and ran out of the open door of the aravel, only to bump against Keeper Deshanna who promptly knocked her legs from under her with an oaken staff.

But Lavellan didn’t give in. She spurted into run, dodging her grandmother who had died when she was mere six winters old. She ignored the shouts behind her, and screamed for help. Dirthamen would come. He would hear. He wouldn’t leave her to face alone a horde of demons. There were elves everywhere, and all of them were dead.

She jumped over the long benches where the little ones sat when hahren told stories and speeded towards the forest’s edge. Collecting speed, Lavellan appraised the cooking fires ahead. If she scaled over them and vanished in the woods, she surely could avoid her pursuers long enough to find a way back. A way out. She dodged the Second, Gerion, and jumped.  
Suddenly an unseen force caught her and stopped her flight in the middle of motion. Lavellan found herself dangling in the air over the fire. The noise of clan around her grew quiet immediately, and a woman’s voice noted with dry amusement:  
“Well, well... What have we here?”  
Even though she didn’t know the face of a woman standing before her, Lavellan knew that voice better than any other. And she hated it.  
“Mythal.”, she said, and the word tasted like poison in her mouth.  
“You should call me mother. We are almost related, after all.” Mythal said. “Abelas, be a good lad and bring my errant daughter along. I can’t have her making you all upset.”

The spell released her, and Lavellan would have fallen into campfire if not for Abelas who caught her, throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. It amused the Dalish greatly. Lavellan didn’t agree. Mythal stayed to exchange few words with the clan, and even though her viewing angle was somewhat skewered, Lavellan could see Solas beaming at Mythal with sheer adoration. As well as her father and all other demon Dalish. Or a dead Dalish, she was starting to suspect.  
“This is the crappiest death ever.” she muttered under her breath as Abelas began to walk towards the woods. “Even decapitation is better. Or the time when I got crushed by a   trebuchet.”  
“You are clearly addled one.” Abelas said with serious disapproval. Some things never seemed to change. “I can’t see why our Great Protector calls you a daughter.”  
“You wouldn’t believe even if I told you.” Lavellan said bitterly. Really, the very last thing she needed now was a meeting with her dead mother-in-law.

 


	7. There is only death on this journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirthamen and Falon'Din end up where the dead people go.

They crashed on the ground in a middle of some kind of camp, and Dirthamen was bleeding like a skewered pig.  
“Why did you do that?” Falon’Din yelled at him, trying to staunch the flow of blood. He called up a healing spell, but nothing happened. He tried again, but his magic kept slipping, like he was holding a bar of soap with wet hands.  
“Heal yourself!” Falon’Din screamed at his twin as he applied pressure on the wound.  
Dirthamen’s face was twisted in a pained grimace, and there was bloody froth coming out from his mouth.  
“I can’t.”, he tried to say. “There is something wrong.”  
“Of course there is something wrong! Father tried to kill you! Because you asked!” Falon’Din screeched. “You are an idiot! A dead idiot if you don’t man up and heal yourself right now!”  
“I think I’m already d—“  
“Don’t say that word!” Falon’Din was furious, now.  
“Press this against the wound.” a grey-haired woman commanded in common language, handing Falon’Din a lump of lichen. She wore Mythal’s markings on her face, and her garb was one of the Dalish. There were more people gathering around them. The woman ripped Dirthamen’s tunic open and placed her hands over the wound.  
“Gerion, pay attention.” the woman commanded.  
A boy, barely old enough to come into his magic, knelt down next to her and stared at bloody mess with wide, frightened eyes. The Dalish made room for him.  
Ice shot forwards from woman’s fingers, effectively stopping the flow of blood by freezing it. Wrinkling her forehead, the woman spread her fingers wide and looked at the boy.  
“Needle and thread, Gerion.” she ordered, and someone came running. A breathless woman passed a small basket to the boy, who rummaged through it and handed a bone needle and thread to mage.  
The woman wasted no time as she began to sew the frozen wound shut. Dirthamen jerked violently as the mage pushed the thick needle through his skin.  
“Don’t move!” the woman barked. She glared at Falon’Din and ordered: “You there. Make yourself useful and keep him from moving.”  
“Heal him, you idiot!”  
“Mind your tongue, young man! I do what I can for him, and I don’t have time for backchat, Dread Wolf take you!”  
Normally, Falon’Din would have killed her for such disrespectful attitude, but this was not a good moment. He would take care of that as soon as he figured out why he couldn’t work magic here, but the shemlen elf could. Falon’Din took a good grip on Dirthamen’s arms and pushed his brother against the ground. Sweat was pooling on Dirthamen’s forehead and he looked ill. Falon’Din held him down and watched the mage, to be sure she wasn’t going to do anything shifty. The thread she used looked odd and uneven. It took a moment before he understood why. It was made from deer’s tendons. Oh, by lost lights of Arlathan, what a barbaric place.

“I never thought dying would hurt so much.” Dirthamen remarked in dreamy voice. The Dalish Keeper had given him fermented halla milk instead of a proper healing spell since sewing had taken better part of the evening. Falon’Din cringed to think possible infections. Maker, this Dalish healing was more barbaric than anything he had seen in infirmary tent during wars.  
Sitting next to his brother’s narrow cot the Dalish had provided, Falon’Din glared at Dirthamen:  
“I thought you would have figured that out sooner, considering the company you kept.”  
“I knew this would happen. I asked for it. I had a reason. While my Roshan had none.” Dirthamen said. His purple eyes were suspiciously shiny. Falon’Din didn’t like it.  
“If you got a hare-brained idea that you can’t handle living without her, forget it.”, Falon’Din warned. “You liked her, yes, but she’s dead and not coming back. I don’t know how you managed to persuade father to kill you, but—“,  
“It’s very simple, brother.” Dirthamen said. “Only way to get where the dead go is to die.”  
He looked at Falon’Din, smiling faintly.  
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Falon’Din groaned as the pieces of the puzzle clicked together. “You made father kill you so you could come and get her back.”  
“During Inquisition, Roshan and her shemlen friend came across a fascinating spell of Tevinter origin. It freezes time. I theorized that if one could prolong the exact moment of his death – the second between soul leaving the body, but body not yet dying - , it would present a window of opportunity.”, Dirthamen explained.  
“The plan worked, but the wound is unexpected complication.” Dirthamen continued, looking critically at his bandaged midriff. “Father said that the moment the spell ends, he will heal me so I won’t actually die, whether I’m ready or not. I need to find Roshan before it happens. “  
Falon’Din sighed, trying to find right words to make his delusional brother understand. He decided it was best to use simple words.  
“Even if you could find Lavellan, she is just a dead spirit. You know what happens to dead spirits. They linger for a day or two, and then dissolve into deep Beyond. It has been almost two weeks, Dirthamen. It’s too late. Even I can’t call up a spirit so long after it has died.”  
Dirthamen blinked.  
“All you can do is to hope that her spirit might be reborn one day. Even though it is highly unlikely considering the circumstances in current world are vastly different, and spirits tend to reflect world around them. Also, the strain of mother’s Well…” Falon’Din’s words faded. He cleared his throat and added: “This is fool’s journey, brother. I could have told you that in first place. Let’s go home.”  
“No.”, Dirthamen shook his head, attempting to sit up. “Roshan is still here somewhere. I know it.”  
“Lay down, you idiot! You’ll tear your stitches.” Falon’Din pushed his brother back down.  
“You need to listen, brother!” Dirthamen glared at him. Anger was starting to burn on his cheeks. “I’m sick and tired with you all trying to ruin my life. You killed Roshan twice. Father poisoned her behind my back to save her and mother enslaved her. Why can’t you all just let us be? I swear to stars, Falon’Din, if you don’t help me now, I _will leave you all_.”  
“What did you say about father poisoning her?” Falon’Din interrupted his rant.  
“The blue stuff, his 'special dessert'.”, Dirthamen gestured angrily around him. “Father said she deserved a fighting chance, which is true, but he should have asked her first! Or asked me!”  
He sat up, pushing Falon’Din away.  
“What in the Void is wrong with you all?” Dirthamen’s voice rose. “Is it truly so much to ask that I’d get to live in peace with Roshan? There were six different groups of madmen trying to kill her already, and now father has made it worse! How can we ever have children if there are assassins at the door every time she goes outside?”  
“Children?” Falon’Din was stupefied.  
“Yes, you idiot! I wanted to have children with her, but I didn’t ask because I thought it was too soon, and now she is dead and it’s your fault.” Dirthamen yelled. “I hate you! I hate you all!”

The aravel door opened, and all too familiar man walked in carrying a small tray. The twins turned to stare at Solas, who placed a steaming cup on a side table and shook his head.  
"What is it with people these days?” Solas asked with a sigh. He straightened his posture and started to explain in calming tone. "There is no need for aggression. You are simply distraught after uthenera, and you need to calm down. I have prepared an herbal remedy to soothe nerves and I will heal your wound if you behave. Keeper Deshanna said that you are seriously injured."  
Falon'Din was going to kill Fen'Harel. He had thought of little else for all those years he had spent locked away behind a mirror. Friend of the Dead had long waited for a chance to run the bastard through, and now he was finally here. A disguise of Dalish apprentice didn't hide the annoying arrogance of Wolf, oh no.  
"Keeper Deshanna?” Dirthamen repeated. He put his hand on Falon'Din's arm, a warning not to act. "I don't think we caught your name or the name of your clan when we arrived so unexpectedly."  
"My name is Solas.” Fen'Harel informed them. "I'm First to Keeper Deshanna of Clan Lavellan. If you wish, I could heal you. Our Keeper is not gifted with healing magic, but she has every faith in my abilities.”  
“Of course.” Dirthamen said graciously.  
Falon’Din tensed, remembering what had happened last time the Wolf had cast a spell on them, but his brother’s light touch on his arm anchored him where he stood.  
A glow of magic began to shine around Solas as he began to weave the torn flesh together. Dirthamen's smile was beautiful to behold as he watched Solas work, and Falon’Din knew his twin was up to something.  
Dirthamen let out a relieved breath when his wound was healed.  
“Thank you.” he said. “We are in your debt, and wish to make a compensation for your hospitality. As First of Lavellan, do you know any way we could help out?”  
Solas considered his words for a moment and then offered:  
“If you know anything about woodworker’s trade, it would be appreciated. One of our aravels was damaged recently, and it should be repaired as soon as possible.”  
“Brother, I think we’re staying.” Dirthamen told Falon’Din. Quietly, Dirthamen’s fingers formed the secret symbol from their childhood game. _Watch. Learn._

 

It didn’t even take one full day to understand something was seriously wrong with Clan Lavellan. It was obvious to Falon’Din, even though he had never been interested in puzzles like Dirthamen. _  
_

The weather never changed. Even if the wind blew, the clouds on the sky didn’t move. What was far more alarming, was the fact that Clan Lavellan didn’t do anything.

The hunters of Clan left each morning to pursue prey, but they never brought back any. The people didn’t even notice the lack of food. The elders in the camp planned what they should gather to survive through winter, but the number of herb bundles hanging in Keeper’s aravel stayed same each day. The woman who cared for Clan’s halla told Falon’Din daily that she was worried for a calf which had been born a week ago, but she never asked Solas for help even though she planned it.

“What happened to Lavellan’s clan?” Falon’Din asked one day as he watched Dirthamen nailing a board to damaged aravels. His brother was insistent on doing that for some unknown reason.  
“The whole clan was murdered by humans two years before I met Roshan.” Dirthamen replied.  
“Ah.” Falon’Din said. “It explains much. Dead wraiths are usually stuck to moment of their deaths, unable to move forward. But what is curious is how they survived this long. They should have evaporated long ago.”  
“The Keeper talks about other villages. She claims that there is some kind of trade going on. It could be just a memory, but something is changing.” Dirthamen noted, taking another nail. “Do you know the little girl whose father has my vallaslin?”  
“The shy one with red pigtails?” Falon’Din inquired. “I’ve seen her, yes.”  
“She had a nightmare last night. About fire and bad people.” Dirthamen remarked calmly. “Her mother calmed her down, but everyone has been somewhat tense today. We should watch them. The mood in camp is changing.”  
“I though you would have stormed off as soon as we saw Lavellan isn’t here.” Falon’Din noted.  
“But she might have been here.” Dirthamen said, following the ruined wall with his fingertips. “This is magical damage. A mind blast, I’d say. There are three beds inside aravel, even though the couple who lived here has only one son who lives with his own family. And as far as I’ve seen, only people who can work magic here belong to mother.”  
“Mother.” Falon’Din said slowly. He looked at Dirthamen, whose purple eyes were shadowed. “I see.”  
Falon’Din stood up, stretching his limbs.  
“I think I might sleep elsewhere tonight.” he remarked lazily. “The girl who tends halla is a chatterbox.”  
Dirthamen gave him a faint smile and small nod before turning back to his work.

\--

Her head broke the surface of water and strong arms held her up as she coughed. There were bruises on her arms, and her legs trembled wildly from exhaustion. Without help, she couldn’t have stood up.  
“Tell me your name, daughter.” a white-haired woman with golden eyes said. She was standing near the edge of a pool, surrounded by warriors wearing golden armor.  
Her whole body hurt. She didn’t know why. And she didn’t know answer to her question.  
“Mother?” she asked tentatively. Her voice was hoarse, and her throat was sore. Had she talked too much? Screamed? Shouted? She couldn’t recall.  
“Daughter.”, woman’s smile spread all way to her eyes. They were warm and kind.  
“I don’t know what my name is. I can’t remember.” she said anxiously.  
“It’s no matter. This is your new life, and it is only fitting that you have a new name.” mother said. “Your name will be Asha’lin.”  
“You are daughter of Mythal.” the man holding her said, nodding. “Your name should tell who you are.”  
Asha’lin. It didn’t feel quite right, but she nodded uncertainly and waded forwards with shaking legs. Mother was offering her hand to help her up from the pool and Asha’lin took it. As their fingers entwined, there was something odd on warriors’ faces. She couldn’t say what it was, exactly, but she had eerie feeling of being envied and pitied by them, both at the same time.

Whatever was wrong with her memory, it stuck, but mother reassured her that it was not a problem. She and their warriors would simply teach her everything she had forgotten. At first, Asha’lin wasn’t convinced it would work as easily as they seemed to think, but with each day she started to remember more, and it calmed her doubts. Vir’Abelasan, the pool where her new life had begun, was somehow familiar to her, and she could often answer mother’s questions about the Well and how it worked.  
Mother was very pleased with her progress.

“Vir’Abelasan is a gift for our people in the castle and for those living in a valley behind woods.” mother told her as they walked along the crystalline floors of her castle. “It has two functions. It reserves memories and knowledge, but it also offers blessings.”  
Mother stopped in front of a window and gestured towards west. Asha’lin couldn’t see anything else but a great forest continuing all way to horizon, but mother’s warrior, Abelas, had assured her that there were people living beyond it.  
“Our people have suffered much. Their spirits are weary and wounded. They come to me, and Vir’Abelasan, for a gift of redemption. You will take their sorrow away, so they can continue their lives and be happy.” mother said. “I’ve kept them for a very long time, but I’m growing old, and it is your turn to take responsibility.”  
“You don’t look that old to me, mother.” Asha’lin disagreed.  
Mother chuckled.  
“As things are, time scarcely matters to you and me, daughter.”  
“I remember only the Well. Was my spirit wounded, too?” Asha’lin asked with frown.  
“Most grievously.” mother said, looking out from the window. “But it is over now, over and done, and you are safe here with me.”

Knowing that she had been hurt explained many things, and there was much to learn about Vir’Abelasan. Mother decided that she would show her how the blessings were given on next full moon, but after that, Asha’lin would be one to enact the ritual.

She was content, and her days were busy, but there were odd, lingering things which bothered Asha’lin. Her rooms were next to mother’s, and usually she slept well, but sometimes she woke up and unthinkingly felt for another body next to her. Her hands could almost remember the shape of him – it was him, not her, she was certain of that – and when she found nothing but cool sheets next to her, she felt like a sad fool. Odd ache squeezed her heart, making her throat tighten and tears rose to her eyes. This sensation of loss must have been the reason why mother had sent her to well. It had something to do with him, but she couldn’t remember him or anything else.

So she asked mother.  
“Did I have a lover, mother?”  
“You had many, just like I.”, mother said, taking her attention away from the book she had been reading. Asha’lin knew mother favoured some of her warriors, and they visited her rooms sometimes.  
“Yes, but did I like one of them better than others?” Asha’lin asked tentatively. It was hard to put it in words, when she didn’t know what she was trying to say at first place.  
“What do you mean?” mother asked. “Tell me, child.”  
So she tried to explain the odd feeling of loss, and how she missed something she couldn’t even remember. Mother nodded, and there was a strange look in her eyes. Asha’lin couldn’t quite tell if mother was pleased or angry, because the slanted, small smile mother favoured didn’t give hints either way.  
“It’s just a wish, not a memory.” mother told her. “You have been alone for a long time, and it’s natural for young woman to wish for love. But love will only betray you. Love, my dear one, is ultimately a lie.”

_  
_


	8. Well of Sorrows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins decide to visit their mother. Solas and Lavellan meet again. And Mythal teaches her sons an important lesson about fairytales.

“They came at night.” woman’s whisper was barely audible, and tears were falling behind her closed eyelids. She held on her child tightly. “One of them ripped Arianni away, and I pleaded them not to hurt her. Mahanon tried to stop them, and they ran him through.”  
Her words broke in a helpless sob, and her husband put his arms around her.  
“It’s not real, Seranni. It is just a bad dream.” Mahanon said.  
“They killed you, Mahanon.” Seranni wept. “I saw them taking my little one and they broke her neck. We hadn’t done anything to provoke Duke of Wycome! Arianni is just a little girl. Why would anyone hurt her?”  
“Please help her, Solas.” Mahanon said, his voice pleading. “Make her nightmares go away.”  
“Of course.” Solas said sadly. “I will prepare something which will help you to rest without dreams.”

Seranni took the remedy eagerly, holding the cup with shaking hands as she drank. Soon she started to look tired, and she curled on the bed with her little girl, who slept already.  
Solas looked at father, who had dark bags under his eyes, and asked kindly:  
“What about your dreams, Mahanon?”  
“They are not good.” the man admitted. “I just didn’t want Seranni to hear.”  
“Do you need my help?” Solas asked. He knew Mahanon well. He was not the type to complain, or seek for help voluntarily. He had to be asked.  
“Yes.”, Mahanon said, not meeting his gaze. “I don’t think... I don’t think I can hold on much longer, Solas.”  
“It’s not weakness to ask help from another, Mahanon. You are my clan, and I would do anything to help you. I mean it.”, Solas said as he began to prepare another sleeping draught.

Solas was feeling drained when he finally joined the Keeper for midday meal. There were not many present. Maybe half of the clan was missing, resting in deep, dreamless sleep in their aravels. But the Keeper was there, as well as the newcomers. The twins.  
“Have you slept well lately? Or is the food not for your liking?” Solas asked as he saw one of them watching his plate with strange look. In his opinion, there was nothing wrong with food; it was simple fare, but tasty and well-prepared. But judging by their clothes, which were far richer than the garments of Dalish, they might have been accustomed to different palate.  
“It’s hard to judge something which is not there.” the starved-looking one said dryly.  
The other twin smiled and said:  
“I fear Danifon hasn’t slept much lately. He gets cranky when he doesn’t sleep.”  
“Danifon? That is your name?” Keeper Deshanna asked.  
The elf gave a dirty look at his brother, who seemed undisturbed.  
“I fear our mother didn’t have much imagination with names. You may call me Hadmentir.” the polite twin said.  
“Yes. Even though the principle is same, somehow you didn’t end up with as stupid name as Danifon.” Danifon said, sounding annoyed.  
“Brother, we are guests.” Hadmentir reminded him. “Even though you are irritated, your nightmares are not their fault. Be mindful.”  
“Yes, my nightmares. I have terrible nightmares about my whole family betraying me. Including my dear brother.” Danifon said sharply, glaring at Hadmentir who flinched visibly. “In my dream, they storm into my home and beat me bloody.”  
His words made Solas feel uncomfortable. Danifon’s hurt was old and bitter, but no less deep than with any others. It was never easy to listen nightmares which plagued his People, but somehow he was certain that he did not want to delve into Fade to soothe this particular bad dream.  
His reluctance must have been visible, because Keeper Deshanna placed her hand on his.  
“You are tired, Solas.” the older woman said kindly. “This is too much for you. I can prepare the soothing draught for Danifon and any others who are plagued by nightmares, if you go to forest to gather more herbs.”  
Hadmentir was watching them. Solas could feel it.  
“I have to admit I haven’t been sleeping very well myself.” Solas admitted. It was true; last night he had a terrible nightmare where he was the last one of his kind, lost alone in torrents of time. He had been so relieved when he woke up among his Clan, hearing the soft breaths of Keeper and Second in an aravel they three shared.  
“Forest will soothe you.” Deshanna promised, and Solas understood.  
“Yes.” he said. “I think so, too.”

When he put his plate away, he noticed Hadmentir was still watching him, making no effort to eat. Solas frowned. In all this time, he didn’t remember seeing either twin eating anything. But they always came to communal meals, so they must have. Solas shook his head, willing to drive disturbing thoughts away. He was just tired and Keeper was right. It was time to make the pilgrimage through the forest.

\--

“So what’s the plan? I’m willing to bet Fen’Harel already left to _collect herbs from the woods._ Apparently he lost his ability to craft believable lies when mother brainwashed him.” Falon’Din sniffed.  
“I have a plan.” Dirthamen said. “We are going follow Fen’Harel to mother’s sanctum and demand my Roshan back.”  
“That’s it?” Falon’Din was stricken. “It’s… a bit direct. Coming from you, I mean.”  
“And if mother does not agree to my demands, I will kill her. Again.” Dirthamen said and started to walk deeper in the forest, leaving Falon’Din to hurry after him.

When he reached a small clearing, Dirthamen whistled sharply and extended his arm. A moment later a small flock of birds appeared. One of them, a colourful male, landed on his arm. He spoke to bird in trills and whistles, and it answered in turn. After a short exchange, birds took flight towards north.  
“That looks and sounds equally weird every time you do it.”, Falon’Din noted, arms crossed over his chest.  
“I told you that learning the languages of animals would come handy one day.” Dirthamen replied, undisturbed. “Not all skills require magic.”

He put fingers in his mouth and let out a deep, inhuman noise. It echoed in the woods. The brothers waited in silence, and a bit later, they picked up a sound of branches cracking. A roar answered.  
“You should wait for me here.” Dirthamen said absently. “It’s an alpha bear, leader of its pack.”  
“You must be kidding me.”, Falon’Din groaned. “Weren’t birds enough?”  
“Bears are not unlike Evanuris, brother. They live in a dominance hierarchy based on age, size and temperament.” Dirthamen said with faint glimmer in his eyes. “Social position is established and maintained by aggressive behaviour and posturing. The way things have been going for me lately, I don’t think that producing a fit of rage to subdue a pack of bears will take long.”  
  
Dirthamen vanished in the bushes and Falon’Din looked up the sky, feeling increasingly desperate. For all his vanity and lack of patience, he knew he wasn’t the one who had inherited Elgar’nan’s terrible temper. While Falon’Din wore his emotions on his sleeve, Dirthamen bottled it all inside. If Lavellan was not well, if mother had done something unforgivable, Falon’Din was not sure what he was going to do when the inevitable meeting finally happened. He didn’t know if he should protect Dirthamen from mother, or mother from Dirthamen. Last time Dirthamen had lost his temper, he had killed mother, sparked a war which ruined Elvhenan and gotten them all imprisoned for eons.

“Brother.”, Dirthamen’s voice called, and Falon’Din looked to see if he needed help. That wasn’t the case. His twin sat on great bear like it was lady’s trained horse. The animal was monstrously large, and there was an evil look in little beady eyes. Falon’Din didn’t trust bears. He had seen too many dead people who had made mistake of thinking that bears were fluffy and nice.  
“There will be another bear coming for you soon. “, Dirthamen informed him. “They are taking us to mother’s lair, while birds keep eye on Fen’Harel and arrange a distraction.”  
“If I have to ride bear, this is last time I’m coming to rescue your consort.” Falon’Din swore.  
“Be grateful I didn’t call an ostrich.” Dirthamen told him and turned towards north. The bear began to run, trampling everything in its way, and Falon’Din was left behind to wait for his lift towards mother’s secret lair. Things he did for his brother.

\--

 

She didn’t know what to say to a man standing in front of her. Something in him made her heart ache. When she closed her eyes, she could easily recall the softness of his mouth, the sharp lines of his face. If she could draw, she could have drawn him from memory.  
“Do I know you?” she asked uncertainly.  
“I don’t know.” he replied, sounding equally hesitant. “But I think I knew you.”  
She nodded in agreement, feeling sad.  
“I’m afraid I don’t’ remember you.” she said quietly. “Or much anything, really. Mother said I was too grievously hurt.”  
“I’m sorry, vhenan.” he whispered.  
Her eyes widened and she almost caught an edge of _something_ , but the door behind her opened and mother walked in.  
“Solas.”, mother greeted him. “Come inside. There are things we need to discuss.”  
She moved to follow Solas and mother, but mother raised her hand in forbidding gesture.  
“Not you, daughter. There are more guests coming. They would be very disappointed if you weren’t here to welcome them. “  
The door closed, and she was left standing there, on a narrow pathway between waters of Vir’Abelasan flowing freely on either side. And she wondered if this Solas had been one of her lovers mother had spoken about. If he had been the one she almost remembered.

She waited, but nobody came, and she was getting bored. She dipped her fingers into Vir’Abelasan, and noticed blue sparkles it caused. Abelas had been teaching her about the Well, and mother said she was almost ready to take over. A thought occurred to her: if Vir’Abelasan took away hurts and sorrows of those who partook it, where did they go? And if she found them, would she get her memories back?

She glanced carefully at the closed door and considered. It was potentially dangerous, yes, but she knew Vir’Abelasan. It was not like there had been anything else to do than study it ever since she woke up in the water. More importantly, she had a nagging feeling that she might not have agreed to give her memories away voluntarily. She had seen the sentinels go through the ritual when the past weighed their minds, and they didn’t get bruises like she had. She didn’t doubt mother’s words about her being hurt, but she was hurt still, if only for different reasons.

If she was quick, mother would not have time to interfere.

\--

 

There was a sudden roar of magic coming from west. Dirthamen stopped where he stood, and Falon’Din saw an odd, blue glow flaring under his skin.  
“It’s Roshan.” Dirthamen said. “We must go.”  
He pulled Falon’Din’s arm, and they began to run.

It felt like his own magic was sizzling. Mother’s power binding this place and people living here was changing, moving. As they ran, Falon’Din kept trying to grab his own power, and he almost succeeded when Dirthamen suddenly stopped again.

It was Lavellan. She was standing in water, and the Vir’Abelasan was a whirlpool around her. The waves crashed over her, but she held on her ground. Mother was standing opposite her, her hand raised in gesture of defiance, and mother’s eyes were glowing with power. Fen’Harel was there, too, but his hands were hanging limply on his sides and he didn’t seem to know what to do. Because there was one thing which was very, very wrong. Lavellan’s eyes didn’t glow blue. Her whole body was glowing blue, and the light was coming under her skin. It was like Dirthamen’s, but immensely stronger.  
“Damn it, father.” Dirthamen said, his voice sounding like he was going to start weeping or laughing. Falon’Din couldn’t say which one was more likely.  
“Explain.”, Falon’Din ordered and pulled Dirthamen away when Vir’Abelasan splashed, almost wetting them. He knew better than let his brother swallow a single drop of water from mother’s Well. Pulling him down behind an ornate fence, Falon’Din took a bruising grip of Dirthamen’s arm to keep him there. Now was not the time to inform mother of their arrival. Not in a middle of battle between Mythal and Lavellan.  
“It’s father’s special dessert. Made from Titan’s heart.” Dirthamen said. He was watching Lavellan with wonderment. “He said that even if I broke mother’s curse, Roshan had to free herself, otherwise she would just change masters and become my slave instead of Mythal’s. And father thought she deserved a fighting chance.”  
Falon’Din blinked.  
“You are mad. You both are mad.”, he said. “You can’t feed Titan’s heart to a person! It’s... It’s simply not done!”  
“I felt the same way.” Dirthamen breathed, his eyes never leaving Lavellan. “But she is glorious.”  
“You are out of your mind, brother.” Falon’Din snapped.

The shining woman standing in the Well raised her hand very slowly. There was blood coming the corners of her eyes and her ears, but raging water washed them away. The water began to form a pillar around Lavellan, and Falon’Din saw mother shaking with strain as they wrestled for control. Lavellan raised her left hand, too, wearing the same defiant look she always had when she was going to die, and brought her arms down sharply. The pillar of water burst, and Falon’Din had barely time to throw himself over his brother before Vir’Abelasan rained all over the room.

\--

 

It was much like first time. She coughed water out of her lungs, feeling drained, and someone was holding her up. But this time, the feel of arms around her was familiar and right. Lavellan’s eyes dwelled with tears as she looked up to Dirthamen.  
It all came back to her, the night at Falon’Din’s palace. The pain of his spell, the sheer despair of moment she understood they had failed and she was going to die. But there was more. Not all memories she held now were hers. Lavellan hid her face against his chest and began to cry.  
Inside the Well, she had seen a memory of her mother trying to run from shemlen soldiers, and heard the screams of his father as they broke his legs. She had felt Abelas’ despair when he held Mythal’s lifeless body. She remembered the naked pain on Solas’ face when his agents informed him of Inquisitor’s death in Winter Palace.  
“Roshan.”, he spoke, holding her tight. "I love you. It's all right, now.”  
His touch soothed her, quieting the horrors she had seen. He stroked her hair, turning her face gently upwards.  
"I stole back my memories.” Lavellan said, hiccupping.  
A joyful smile lit up his face, and Dirthamen kissed her, wiping her bloody tears away. Despite her panic, Lavellan felt fluttering in her heart, and love bloomed inside her as she sank her fingers in his hair, quietly revelling in closeness and relief.  
“I promised I would come for you. I will always come for you.” Dirthamen murmured, kissing her again.  
"If this was a fairy tale, dear boy, this would be the ending. Sadly, there is no happy ending for boys who murder their own mothers.” Mythal spoke behind them.


	9. Mother's help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mythal offers her help. There is a price, naturally.

It was not good, Lavellan realized as the sentinels appeared from the corners of the room, forming a circle around her, Falon’Din and Dirthamen. There was something wrong with her magic. It felt like her very first attempts to work a simple spell as a child. The feeling of trying to reach something which simply was not there was upsetting. She saw Mythal whispering something to Solas’ ear, and he nodded unhappily, leaving the room.  
“Cut the theatrics, mother.” Dirthamen’s voice was chilling as he turned to face Mythal. “You and your lover wanted to murder father. Like you said, sometimes all options are bad.”  
“So you don’t even regret?” Mythal asked, watching her sons with strange expression. Falon’Din looked like he was going to say something, but he glanced at Dirthamen and shut his mouth.   
“You know nothing about my regrets.” Dirthamen replied. He pushed Lavellan behind him, and she bumped against Falon’Din.   
“You are my son. I know you.” Mythal said simply.  
“You pimped out my wife to everyone I know!” Dirthamen closed the distance between himself and Mythal. “You enslaved her and used her as a pawn to get back to me. Your geas caused her death twenty-two times last year! Whatever I did to you, mother, the debt has been paid long time ago. Your Wolf made sure of that.”  
He leaned forwards, towering over Mythal.   
“I thought you would have understood, but the answer is obviously no. You couldn’t give Roshan up; it would have been a decent thing to do. You had to steal her soul, brainwash her, and souls of her People while you were at it. Your hunger for revenge has proven me that your spirit has been twisted beyond repair. There is nothing left from mother I loved.” Dirthamen spat.  
Mythal sighed quietly. There was a small and tired smile on her face as she looked up to her furious son. It was not what Lavellan expected, and she tensed, waiting for some plot or ploy or attack, but none of those happened.   
“You were always rancorous one, unable to turn away from your chosen path even when it would have been reasonable thing to do. Like when I told you couldn’t have a bear instead of a pony.” Mythal said. “You sat in your corner, building little spiders from twigs, and refused to talk to anyone except your brother for a whole year.”  
A sound suspiciously like snicker came from Falon’Din’s direction.   
“And you haven’t changed, either. Always ready to laugh at someone else’s expense, no matter how grievous the hurt.” Mythal said, looking at Falon’Din. She shook her head sadly.

Something in old woman’s expression made Lavellan feel uneasy. She had no love for Mythal; not after what she had gone through since she drank from Vir’Abelasan, but she knew Dirthamen cared far more than he was willing to let his mother see. If this was the last time they would meet, it would only serve to cut him deeper, and Lavellan didn’t want that.   
“What do you mean?” she asked.  
Mythal looked at her with that strange little smile she remembered from the days they had spent together, when she had called Lavellan her daughter.   
“You will understand it one day, daughter.” she said. “Some children are easy ones; they do what they are told, listen your reasons and understand the meanings behind them. They choose the right path easily and need no nudging or shovelling from their mother. But the children like my sons… They never listen. Raising them to do well is much harder task, requiring a different approach and sterner hand.”  
“Don’t you start again.” Dirthamen snapped. “If you are unhappy about how we turned out, maybe you shouldn’t have—“  
“The easy ones are also dreadfully boring.” Mythal ignored him. “Difficult children are far more interesting. You let them loose, see what happens, and if you set a suitable challenge they cannot ignore, sometimes they come up with unexpected solutions nobody else would have thought of. Like now. Tell me, boys, how did you get here?”  
Falon’Din must have been the tattletale, Lavellan decided. It was obvious from the smirk which spread on his face as he opened his mouth:   
“Dirthamen made father kill him and freeze the time.”  
“That is exactly what I meant.” Mythal said to shocked Lavellan.

“What were you thinking, Dirthamen?” Lavellan demanded. “Why would you ever-- I never wanted you to die, too!”  
“I told you I would come for you. There was no other way.” he said simply.   
Lavellan shook her head, trying to hold back tears. She couldn’t think what to say. He was an idiot. Idiot who would have died – had died – to keep his word.   
“You are a fool.” she said, flinging her arms around his neck.   
Dirthamen smiled. It was one of his true smiles, not the condescending flashy one he presented in public. But suddenly the smile was gone, and his expression turned into one of pain. Lavellan felt his body tensing, and in next heartbeat, his solid presence under her arms was… less solid.   
“Not now.” Dirthamen cursed. Looking at Mythal, he said quickly: “We are leaving, mother. Give back my magic, or I will make you to do it.”  
“It’s an empty threat. Even if you killed me again, I couldn’t do it. This world is kept together by Vir’Abelasan. When my servants first created it, they made it to prepare against you and rest of Evanuris. Only those bound to me can use magic here, and I can’t change it.”, Mythal replied calmly.   
“Oh, fuck it! Lavellan, you ruined the plan. Epically.” Falon’Din yelled, grasping Dirthamen’s arm. His fingers curled around Dirthamen’s sleeve, unlike Lavellan’s. The outlines of Dirthamen’s body were turning transparent. It looked like what Solas had done to her at Sheeran when he tried to set her soul free.  
She was not the God of Death. With terrible clarity, Lavellan understood that she would be left behind.   
“Falon’Din.” she drew a deep breath. “Do not let Dirthamen to try this again. Keep him alive, no matter the cost.”  
Falon’Din nodded grimly, and Lavellan bit her lip, trying not to cry. A hope stolen hurt so much more than never having it, and seeing the desperation on Dirthamen’s face made it only harder. She could see through him, now. It was like seeing a ghost.   
“Mother. Is there any way you could help?” Dirthamen asked.  
“So good that you asked, lad. And you were even polite about it.”, Mythal almost purred. “I could use what is left of my power to send her back as she was before her latest death, on one condition. I will begin to search for a new host body and you shall provide assistance. Within one year, I choose the one I want, and you two will make certain I will have it. No matter how difficult it is, no matter who it is, you will prepare my chosen vessel for me.”  
“I have conditions, too. You will not choose anyone who is currently bound to someone’s service. You will not choose me, Falon’Din, father or Roshan. And you will not bind Roshan again.” Dirthamen said shrewdly.  
“Agreed.” Mythal said.  
“And it has to be on our Thedas.” Falon’Din said. “No parallel worlds or time skipping included. I’m too old to pretend to eat imaginary food at Dalish camp ever again.”  
“This is a trap.” Lavellan said quickly. “No, Dirthamen.”  
“So untrusting.” Mythal clicked her tongue. “Would you stay here with me, then? For the rest of the eternity. I don’t think Elgar’nan has more Titan’s Heart left for my son to seek you out again. And even that won’t keep your body intact forever. You are running out of time.”  
“I don’t need a body.” Lavellan resisted. “I can always make a new one.”  
“So you think now, girl.” Mythal said. “How is it, Dirthamen? Yes or no?”  
Mythal was already collecting magic in her hands, and Lavellan flinched when she saw too familiar shine of pale blue.   
“Yes.”, Dirthamen said, his voice barely audible.   
“Yes.”, Falon’Din echoed him.   
“The deal is made, then.” Mythal said. She released her spell, and to her horror, Lavellan saw a rune of binding flashing on Dirthamen’s left hand, as well as Falon’Din’s and Mythal’s. In next heartbeat, their ghostly forms flickered, and the twins were gone.

Mythal clapped her hands, addressing her sentinels.   
“Best to start unravelling our spells here, then. Bringing back two dead souls isn’t easy, and it would not do to fall short in this. I expect you all give your best to this task.”  
“I thought you weren’t dead.” Lavellan said suspiciously.  
“I wasn’t talking about me, daughter.” Mythal said, looking absolutely smug. It disturbed Lavellan to notice that Mythal was actually mirroring Falon’Din’s expression when he was up to no good.   
“I was talking about my grandchild. The tiniest spark of life, not even formed yet, but the _fellenaste_ pudding is unparalleled remedy to booster one’s fertility and endurance. It can get babies through anything. Even death. When I was pregnant with my twins, I once got a cracked skull and spear through my ribs in a battle, and nothing happened. For you, Titan’s heart should have changed your spirit and biology to remind those of elvhen. Elgar’nan has always been prone to grandiose gifts like effective immortality. ”  
Lavellan stared at Mythal, certain this was just a bad dream. A nightmare.   
“If it was true.” she wet her suddenly dry lips with her tongue, “how long gestation period the ancient elves had? How long it would take for me? Ten years? A century?”  
“Little less than a year from now you’ll be a mother. What do you think my son will say?” Mythal queried sweetly.  
“Fenedhis lasa.” Lavellan whispered.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dirthamen's reaction to news can be best summarized by first thirty seconds of this https://youtu.be/kHicliUheO4  
> But we get to that on next Saturday.


	10. Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evanuris gather in the palace of Halamshiral, and the Game is on.

“This is better than a hut in a swamp.” Mythal allowed as she stood on the balcony of Winter Palace at Halamshiral. “I like what Falon’Din has done with the place, but he always paid more care to his surroundings than Dirthamen.”  
Elgar’nan chuckled as he sipped from his glass.  
“You wouldn’t like his house. They live in Fade-built observatory on a forsaken rock located in middle of southern ocean.”  
“Gods.” Mythal shook her head.  
“So, now that we are alone, what is your true reason to be here?” Elgar’nan asked lightly, leaning against the balcony railing. “I know you too well to assume you appeared here just to play a doting grandmother. It was never your style.”  
“You still don’t mince your words, do you?” Mythal arched her eyebrows.  
She took a place next to Elgar’nan and remarked, watching the garden:  
“How do you think our children turned out, Elgar’nan?”  
“Not bad. Could have been far worse.” he shrugged.  
“Yes, but our sons are almost five thousand years old. Don’t you think we should have become grandparents years ago? Like four thousand years ago? Without me needing to come up with elaborate scheme like a dating curse?” Mythal rolled her eyes.  
Elgar’nan almost choked on his drink. He started to cough, and ever watchful Senris had to hit him on the back before sparkly wine got out from his lungs. Then he began to laugh.  
“By Geldauran’s tits, Mythal.” he said, wiping tears of laughter. “You played a crazy hag who was all about undying vengeance towards Evanuris and put geas on Lavellan to set her up with our boy?”  
“It worked, didn’t it?” Mythal replied smugly. “I thought she might be the one, but I had to know if she was strong enough. Weak people don’t survive in this family. And I needed to test their resolve, too. Love shouldn’t be made too easy if it is meant to last.”  
She hummed under her breath, well pleased. But mother’s work was never done; there were still some lessons her sons had to learn before she could finally rest.  
“Falon’Din is still irresponsible, rude and prone to despotism. He thinks compassion is just a boring spirit. If he does not change, we need to take him down again in two thousand years, and I’m not strong enough to do that. And Dirthamen would be perfectly content hiding in his corner and let life pass him by, just because he is wary of taking risks. He clings to you and Falon’Din ridiculously. It’s time he stood on his own two feet and made his own life with his own family.” Mythal said firmly.  
“And how you are going to change that?” Elgar’nan inquired.  
“Me? I am going to do nothing.” Mythal told him.

\--

It was first time Lavellan had seen Dirthamen getting drunk. And she heartily wished she could have joined in. From the sheer numbers of scantily dressed women attending, she strongly suspected that original plans for the event had been somewhat different than “I’m going to be an uncle”-party Falon’Din was supposedly throwing. But when Lavellan took Dirthamen’s bottle of whiskey and poured for herself, he snapped his fingers and all she tasted was water.  
“Alcohol causes infants to become slow-minded.”, Dirthamen said and poured another glass for himself. His eyes were bloodshot, and he stank of spirits.  
“It’s not true! The healers in Haven gave ale for new mothers, to make their milk rise faster.” Lavellan protested.  
“That misinformed practice is probably reason why people think that shemlen have flat faces and low nasal bridges as a racial feature, even though they are tell-tale signs of poisoned fetus.”, Dirthamen shrugged. He emptied his glass, grimaced at taste and continued:  
“You can see it clearly when you compare your former companions. Fen’Harel has a normal nose because his mother made informed choices. Sera of Red Jennies had no such advantages, and therefore she was born with a short nose and poor impulse control.”  
“But Solas destroyed the world, twice, while Sera is perfectly happy playing embarrassing tricks on nobility.” Lavellan still wasn’t convinced.  
“Precisely, Roshan.” Dirthamen said, his voice becoming a bit slurred. “I would expect former from any child of mine, not the latter.”  
Lavellan glared at him.  
“Sera was much happier person than Solas. Unwilling to make plans, yes, and not willing to gather power, either, but they are not negative traits. Happiness is more important than intelligence.” she argued.  
“In this family, a child like Sera would get herself killed or worse before she reaches seventy years of age.”, Dirthamen noted. He tried to pour another shot of whiskey, but the bottle was empty. One of Falon’Din’s servants, a blond female elf wearing a pink babydoll brought him another with an inviting smile. Lavellan didn’t appreciate it. The dress she wore was too short for sitting and thin enough to see her nipples.  
“Then there is something wrong with the family, not with my baby.” Lavellan snapped. “Actually, I can give you prime example. Your mother outplayed us all with her awful deal and the time limit. She is going to steal the baby to become her new vessel. I need to know if you are going to do anything about it!”  
Dirthamen considered it.  
“We could have another baby if you want.” he shrugged.  
“What?” Lavellan couldn’t believe her own ears.  
“It’s not like there was anything we could do. I gave mother my word, and if we give her this one, next ones should be relatively safe. It was a shrewd move from mother, I have to admit. I find the thought of killing my own child, no matter whose soul is inside, distasteful.” Dirthamen tried to open the bottle. His movements were getting sloppy, and after two unsuccessful tries, the ever-attentive dainty servant opened it for him.  
“This is not you.” Lavellan said. “You _wouldn’t_.”  
“I always keep my word.” Dirthamen replied, staring into his glass.  
“If you do nothing, you risk losing more than just your honor. This is my child, too. If you think I will step aside and let anyone enslave her, you do not know me at all.” Lavellan said. Her words were sharp and bright like shattered glass.  
“I advise against such an action.” Dirthamen said slowly, lifting up his gaze. “There is no way you could win a fight against three of us.”  
“It is not about winning. It’s about choosing, and protecting one’s own. All it requires for evil to prevail is that good men sit by and do nothing. If Solas had done nothing, I would be just another slave in someone’s service. That’s what I am, am I not? Descendant of some Elvhenan slave?”  
Dirthamen said nothing.  
“I know what slavery is. And I will rather die than see it happen to my baby.” Lavellan said. She stood up abruptly.  
“I’m going to sleep. Alone.” she announced and strode out.  
“Do you wish me to follow her, my lord?” the servant asked in low voice.  
“No, Deceit. It’s time for phase two.” Dirthamen replied quietly. He looked at his bottle of whiskey and sighed, pouring another shot.

“Brother!” Falon’Din greeted Dirthamen. “There you are, sitting in a corner like always. What’s up with Lavellan? I ran into her in vestibule and she looked like she was going to bite my head off.”  
Falon’Din draped himself over a gilded armchair, and his seven attendants gathered around him. The shortest one had skin which was white as snow and colourless hair, while the tallest woman, who rested her head on Falon’Din’s knees, sported perfect ebony complexion.  
“We had an argument.” Dirthamen replied. His eyes were half-closed as he leaned against the back of his chair.  
“Mood swings already? Figures.” Falon’Din rolled his eyes, and the women around him chuckled brightly.  
Dirthamen said nothing. He took a swig from his glass. His hands were shaking, and most of the whiskey fell on his jacket.  
“If I were you, brother, I would plan ahead. It’s likely that she’ll only get crankier, not to mention bloated, as time goes by. Not very appetizing. The guest list is prepared to your liking, and I won’t tell.” Falon’Din flashed a smile.  
Dirthamen stared at golden liquid in his glass. He was quiet for a moment and then shrugged.  
“Why not? Everything’s gone to Void anyway. I’ll have you.” he pointed ebony beauty and then at servant wearing the pink dress “and you.”

 

“Whatever your plan was, it has backfired. Massively.” Elgar’nan said grimly to Mythal.  
“What do you mean?” Mythal frowned. Even though she couldn’t enjoy most aspects of Falon’Din’s party without body, Halamshiral was major improvement over the hut in mosquito-ridden swamp. Peoples’ emotions were all over place, and Mythal had much fun making mental notes of current fashion.  
“Look.”, Elgar’nan nodded towards the ballroom doors. The room was crowded but Mythal saw a tall man in dark robes trying to ascend the stairs. He wasn’t making much progress, because he had his tongue deep in blonde woman’s throat while a dark girl rubbed herself against the pair.  
“Is that Falon’Din?” Mythal asked even though she knew the answer. She just couldn’t believe it. To be sure, she sent a spark of magic towards them. When it bumped against Dirthamen’s personal barriers, Mythal had to admit the truth. It was her younger son who was biting brunette’s neck while groping blond’s breast.  
They silently watched Dirthamen making his way with his entourage up the library stairs. The blonde crossed the threshold without her dress, and the brunette lost her underpants on the stairs before library door was magically locked after them.  
“I’ll postpone the flower orders for the wedding. The gall of the boy! In a party meant to celebrate my grandson!” Elgar’nan seethed. “Senris!”  
“Yes, my lord?”  
“Deliver one of my special jars to my grandson’s mother, with my sincerest apologies.”  
  
\--

 

In the grand library, the mood changed the moment door closed behind the three.  
“I’ve cleared the way to artefact, master.” the ebony beauty said. “It is as you described; the Orlesian conquerors sealed the room away for a reason. The arrow is attuned to Andruil, and it has a primitive consciousness. It sensed my thoughts, using them against me.”  
“Must have been unpleasant for you to be in receiving end, Fear.” the blonde smirked.  
“Shut up. I still haven’t forgotten Abelas fooling you with his lies. I had to kill him, and it was your fault.”  
“Quit bickering.” Dirthamen drawled, his voice thick with drink. “The artefact.”  
“Are you certain it is wise, master?” Deceit asked. “Do you need more whiskey to prepare?”  
“If I digest a single drop more, I’ll throw up.”, Dirthamen muttered.  
“Very well.” Deceit said and slipped her dainty shoulder under Dirthamen’s arm.  
“You could have picked a larger frame.” Fear muttered as she took another side, bearing most of Dirthamen’s weight.  
“I have far nicer boobs than you do. You’re just jealous…” Deceit sniffed as they began to drag their lord towards the secret chamber hidden behind stairs.

\--

Lavellan was laying in the bed and pretending to sleep. Even if she wasn’t still angry, sleep would have been hard to catch.

First, Senris had appeared at her door to deliver a small crystal jar which crackled with electricity. There was a lightning inside. Lavellan didn’t get why Elgar’nan would send her a lightning as a present, especially one which could be mentally aimed at target of her choosing. In the middle of the night. It had come with his sincerest apologies – Senris had especially stressed this part – but it was still unclear to Lavellan what she was supposed to do with it.

Then Dirthamen had stomped in, still drunk. Lavellan had decided not to pay any attention to him, especially after she heard Fear and Deceit following him inside. But if Dirthamen thought they could sleep in the bed too, he was sorely mistaken. Sharing a bed with Falon’Din was bad enough, but Lavellan drew a line at demonic ravens.

Dirthamen was opening and closing the drawers and closets, and not even trying to be quiet as he stumbled across the dark room Falon’Din had given for them.  
“Stars, I hate whiskey.” Dirthamen muttered in slurring voice as he sat on the bed and opened tiny bottle. He emptied it, throwing his head back, and the room was silent for a moment.  
“Roshan. We need to leave now.” he whispered, and his speech was no longer unclear.  
Lavellan opened her eyes in the dark. It took a moment before her sight adjusted. Dirthamen was standing by bed, offering her a backpack. He was wearing simply cut garments of a servant, not his usual robes.  
She accepted the pack from him.  
“I thought you were drunk!” she whispered. “You were ready to keel over.”  
“It was all part of the plan.” he said. “Even magical artefacts cannot identify a person very well if his mind is senselessly intoxicated. But we must go. I will explain everything to you later.”  
“Go where?” Lavellan frowned.  
“I have a plan to save the baby.” Dirthamen said, handing her a bundle of simple clothes.  
Lavellan got up instantly and pulled the roughly-woven dress over her nightgown.  
“No. Give it to Fear.” Dirthamen advised. “She is going to play you for our cover.”  
“All right.” Lavellan said, and began disrobing. “Fill me in.”  
“My lord had a public argument with his consort. After you left, Druast’asha, there was a scandal. Our lord, drunk as he was, made out publicly with two lovely women, me and Fear. He disgraced you at celebration meant to honor your child. Our master’s father was smouldering as our lord retreated with us.” Deceit explained smoothly. He was wearing Dirthamen’s party clothes which reeked of whiskey.  
“I thought Elgar’nan was going to throw a lighting at us. And then we assisted our master to steal the artefact while everyone thought he was having a threesome in the library.” Fear grinned as she pulled Lavellan’s nightshirt on.  
“So that’s why Senris brought me a lighting jar?” Lavellan asked as she stuffed the jar in her backpack.  
“Early in the morning, there will be terrible scene when you wake up to find out about my infidelity and disgrace I caused to your position. Screaming, throwing breakable items, crying, terrible insults and some magic flung recklessly.” Dirthamen explained. “Courts will divide; some will think I’ve cast you aside and seek to replace you as my consort while others will side with you, since your pregnancy has been publicly acknowledged. The politically acute ones will put their money on the fact Elgar’nan favours you, and position of his grandchild’s mother is not without power.”  
“It will keep everyone busy for weeks, while you, Druast’asha, and our master – meaning Fear and me – retire to privacy to solve their differences. It might be three or even four weeks before the deception is revealed to Evanuris.” Deceit added.  
“I can’t say I’m too fond of what you just told me, but if it was necessary to save the baby…I’m sorry for what I said to you. ”, Lavellan’s voice faded.  
“I’m sorry too, gaidhalas.” Dirthamen said, taking her hand. “But we need to go now.”

He led her to stand in the middle of the room and took a golden arrow from his pocket, holding the shaft in his hand.  
“Roshan, I need you to think about time and place. Choose a single moment, a clear memory you have. One with many people is best, since it makes scrying much harder. A place and time where it is easy to slip in and not to be noticed. Hold the arrow, concentrate when I say so, and I will take care of the rest.”  
Lavellan gathered her courage, gripped the arrow and nodded.  
“I’m ready.” she said.  
“Now, Roshan.” Dirthamen put his hand over hers. They held the arrow together. Fear felt her master’s magic stir, quietly as a whisper, as it curled around his consort and Andruil’s treasure. There was no flash of light, or sound. Everything just went dark as shadows gathered around them. In absence of light, the only thing telling they were gone was the sound of arrow falling on the floor.  
“Well.”, Deceit said slowly. “I never thought that the rumour about Andruil’s arrow was true. So it _can_ be used to pierce the barriers between worlds and aimed into river of time...”  
“It was shrewd plot from our lord, outplaying Mythal.” Fear acknowledged. “I wish I just knew what she chose.”  
“We must hide the arrow, so we can return it here in time as our lord instructed. A year from now, was it?”  
“Yes. And then we have a fight to plan. What kind of insults you think Druast’asha could yell to our master...“

\--

 

Malika Cadash was getting frustrated. The Conclave was not her favourite type of mission. Haven was filled with deranged mages and boorish templars and all too many guards surrounding the temple of Sacred Ashes. She had tried to sneak in the epicentre of events twice already, but failed on both attempts. First she had been caught by a Qunari mercenary and then a prickly priest. Carta was paying good money for results, but they tended to be less generous to spies who didn’t deliver.

She was standing on a hill, watching the templars marching in orderly queue towards the temple on the right side of road. The mages strode on left. Both sides tried to ignore each other the best they could. It was not going to last, Cadash thought. She had seen enough storms to know one was in horizon. The tingling feeling between her shoulder blades was never wrong. One did not rise, or even last in the Carta very long without developing some kind of sixth sense.

She saw something from a corner of her eye. Cadash was already drawing her weapons, but relaxed when she saw they were knife-ears. No fancy tattoos, so they were the scraping and bowing kind, not the savage ones.  
“From all possible places, you chose this.” the man said, looking at the line of mages and templars below.  
“It was first thing which came into my mind.” the woman admitted, sounding embarrassed. “I hadn’t seen crowds before this. It was pure luck that I even found my way in the temple.”  
“It was not a bad choice, love. We can use this.” the man answered. “It’s best to know how things will turn out when one ventures into unknown territory.”  
“Hey!” Cadash raised her voice. “You there.”  
Knife-ears turned to look at her.  
“I have business in the temple, but the humans are finicky about letting in visitors. I could pay good coin for information. For genuine information.” Cadash said, fishing two gold coins from her pocket and rubbing them together between her thumb and forefinger.  
The woman looked at man uncertainly.  
“Someone has to go there. It’s too risky for us.” he said.  
The woman nodded. For a moment, it looked like she was watching Cadash with pity, but it couldn’t be. Even if she was with Carta and not a noble prick straight from Orzammar, she was way better off than some knife-ear who probably made her living by washing humans’ dirty laundry.  
“So, do you know anything or not? I’m running on a schedule, here. The world doesn’t wait, you know.”  
“It truly doesn’t.”, the woman said, accepting the coin from Cadash. “I know a path which will get you inside the temple and avoid the guards. I hope you are a good climber – you will need that skill…”

 


	11. A brand new world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirthamen and Roshan avoid the explosion at Conclave, but leaving behind their late experiences proves to be much harder task.
> 
> Also, there is something strange going on with their brand new world.

**In the Temple of Sacred Ashes.**

If Divine Justinia had wanted to keep her dealings secret, she really shouldn’t have chosen a stone building to have her meeting. Cadash popped open a small vial of lyrium and downed it, wiping her mouth. She rolled her shoulders and placed her hand against the unhewn part of a stone wall, kicking a still warm corpse of unfortunate guard further from the wall. Human remains sticking partially out from the walls never failed to raise suspicions, and Cadash was professional at her job.

As the lyrium reached her blood stream, she felt the familiar high humming in her mind. The stone moved under her hand, opening an entrance to her. Wasting no time, she brushed her fingers against the tattoo on the back of her skull, carefully hidden under her thick hair. She didn’t like it, because magic from Above tended to give debilitating headaches, but this had been one of the requirements of her current employer’s contract with the Carta.  
“Cadash in position, ready to enter the temple.” she said firmly. “Waiting for further instructions.”  
“You are behind schedule, durgen’len.” a disembodied voice snapped at her.  
“Had trouble getting in. Bought accurate information from two unmarked ones, a man and a woman. They were a bit shifty. Your people should check on them.” Cadash said.  
“Our Eternal Emperor does not care about your excuses. Establishing the line of sight and audible connection, now.” the voice informed her.  
Even though she tried to prepare herself for the spell, it never got easier. It felt like someone squeezed her eyeballs and pushed something burning inside her ears at the same time. Cadash swallowed bile rising to her throat, and held on until the end of pain signalled it was done.  
“Get going.” her handler commanded.  
“Roger that.” Cadash said, and hoisted the guards corpse on her shoulders to clean up the mess. She entered the passage Stone had opened for her, and it closed behind them, leaving no sign that anyone had ever been there.

“Most Holy. I beg you to reconsider. Surely there are other ways.” red-haired woman said softly, holding old woman’s hand.  
“I understand you grieve for me, Leliana, but you know as well as I that sometimes hard choices must be made for the sake of all. Andraste herself did not flinch for her fate, and she bought us peace with her sacrifice.” the Divine replied. “Don’t weep for my fate, Leliana. I will be on Maker’s side with holy Andraste. I weep for you, and Cassandra, because you will be left behind.”  
“It’s time. Sethius is waiting for you with Dread Wolf.”, a male voice announced from the door.  
“Thank you, Roderick.” Divine nodded. “We will come shortly.”  
The door closed again, and Divine addressed her companions.  
“I want you to be respectful of Sethius, and role he is playing in this. His sacrifice has been far greater than the one he requires from me, and he still bears the markings of the punishment inflicted on him. They pain him greatly, but the loss of his faith is even deeper wound.”  
“Asking us to be polite to a man who is planning to sacrifice you in blood magic ritual is—“  
“Extremely important for the sake of us all, Cassandra.” Divine said firmly. “Even if we worship the Maker, and Sethius is a priest of an Old God, we are united behind a common purpose. The Inquisition is more than just one faith or one race. Be polite to Sethius, as well as Fen’Harel. We would not be here today without Inquisition. “

\--

Cadash had left the guard’s body behind, forever sealed inside thick stone walls of Temple of Sacred Ashes. She crawled forwards, Stone parting before her and closing behind her. Her route was clear; she was following the layout she had gotten a week ago. There were advantages to working for immortals; their information was usually genuine. When she had been presented the map in her dream, it had looked old enough to be original plan from the time the temple had been built.

When she was certain she was on the right place, Cadash placed her right hand against the Stone and whispered a plea. The granite thinned under her hand until it was like grey glass, grainy but thin enough to make out the people beneath her. The unnaturally tall one with deep voice was Sethius Amladaris. He held something green in his hand, so Fen’Harel could not be far away. A smaller form was floating in the air before Sethius, and Cadash saw magic crackling around her, keeping her there. On both sides her, two humans.

“Do you consent to sacrifice yourself to hold the Veil together in the name of Inquisition?” a sharp yet regretful voice asked behind Sethius.  
“Fen’Harel.” Cadash hear her handler’s whisper in her ears. “Be ready.”  
“I do.”, the floating woman in high hat said. Her voice didn’t shake.  
“So it will be. I will craft an Anchor of your soul, to keep us safe from the harm for a thousand years more.” Sethius announced. An ominous green glow began to circle the floating woman.

The humans with floating woman began chanting from the Chant of Andraste:  
_Let the blade pass through the flesh,_  
_Let my blood touch the ground,_  
_Let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice._

Cadash concentrated and weakened the structurally important parts of stone roof, preparing to interrupt the ritual with major collapse as she had been instructed. But suddenly Sethius’ voice overcame those of chanting women. It was bewildered, shocked and filled with desperate need.  
“Dumat!” he cried out, and the green light fell from his hand.

Cadash broke through the thin layer of stone and dove down.

 

**\--- Fifteen minutes earlier outside the temple --**

 

“We must go, gaidhalas.” Dirthamen said, taking her arm. The dwarf had vanished from sight, but Roshan still watched towards the temple with sad expression on her face.  
“I should not have done it.”, she said.  
“Roshan, it was necessary. Coming here will change nothing if you die or we lose the baby. Someone had to go there to interrupt Corypheus.” Dirthamen told her.  
She nodded, letting out a small sigh.  
“You are right. This is not the moment, and we need to get going. If this world and timeline is anything like ours, there will be a massive explosion very soon.”  
“How large explosion? Can you give me anything on area of effect?” Dirthamen frowned.  
“I cannot say precisely, since I was thrown into Fade. But the whole temple was levelled and everyone inside or within close distance died. Dozens of people, maybe hundreds.”  
Dirthamen looked at temple, which was partially visible behind the trees. Far too close. And he looked at the road, filled with people walking towards the temple. If they tried to go against the flow, towards Haven, it would be too slow.  
“Of course, I don’t know the timing. Corypheus could have started his ritual sooner, or maybe Cadash doesn’t answer to Divine’s cry of help. Or maybe he isn’t here at all.” Roshan mused, deep in thought. “It could happen any moment, tomorrow, maybe never. Who knows?”  
“We will not stay here and see. Where is the closest forested area?”  
“To south to Hinterlands, but there are bears and – What you are doing?” she suddenly felt a strong flare of familiar magic.  
A giant shadow fell on her, and when Roshan turned her head, Dirthamen was no longer there. Instead, a great grey dragon stood there, beating with its wings. The templars and mages below had stopped on their tracks, and now everyone was staring at the dragon, and her. And they were yelling.

The dragon took flight, vanishing behind the nearby mountain, and Roshan stared after it. She couldn’t shapeshift. And she was quite certain that even trying to shapeshift while pregnant was extremely dumb idea. The first templars were climbing up the hill, now.  
“Watch out!” one of them yelled at her, sounding frantic. Roshan had no idea what he meant, but suddenly something grabbed her, and she was lifted up the ground. By dragon’s jaws.  
“Put me down!” she screamed at the grey dragon.  
The dragon didn’t answer, but it closed its lips firmly, carefully keeping its teeth from hurting her. She felt ridiculous; she was held like dog’s favourite bone, her head and shoulders sticking from dragon’s mouth on the left while her legs dangled from the right.  
“I hate you! I’m afraid of heights!” Roshan screamed at the dragon. A wet tongue sneaked out, covering her face with dragon drool before it promptly withdrew and settled over her middle, holding her on place. The ground below was unnervingly small and she could no longer even see people. Roads crossed the landscape like ribbons and the forests of south were like giant green carpet spread under them. She couldn’t quite decide if it was more frightening to keep her eyes closed or open.  
She was still swearing when she heard a great boom from distance. Behind them, the Breach bloomed on the sky like deadly flower.

 

Dragon drool was extremely hard to get off from fabric. It worked like glue, leaving shimmery stains and smell of brimstone in her clothes. At least it was late summer, and the day was warm, because it took better part of the hour before Roshan could pronounce her clothes clean. Dirthamen had left to survey their surroundings, but not before summoning two bears to babysit her. Bears sat near the edge of the water, staring at her while she muttered curses and wallowed in the pond, rubbing her clothes with sand and magic. At least they kept their distance. Roshan was mistrustful towards bears, even if _he_ claimed they were loyal and admirable animals.

The problem with Dirthamen was that his actions were difficult to criticize, making it hard to be angry at him. Of course, being carried away by a dragon was preferable to dying in explosion, and it was probably easier to hold a person securely in dragon’s mouth than with talons just like he claimed, but dragon’s drool was still disgusting and she was afraid of heights. Only thing worse than heights were spiders. Playing out a complicated plot including argument and public making out with his servants-disguised-as-harlots to trick his family was again far preferable to letting his mother steal their baby, but she still didn’t like it. Roshan was so ready for this day to finally end.

Keeping eye on bears, she waded to shore and rummaged through backpacks to find something to wear until her own clothes were dry. When she pulled out a small, dented kettle, she shook her head. For someone who could have anything, he surely was sentimental. Roshan put on a black velvet robe and decided to get to work. Blood lotus roots were edible when roasted over fire, and she had seen fennec tracks nearby. Things were usually better after a meal.

 

When Dirthamen returned, it was already late. Sun had gone down and the sky was dark except for the Breach which shone eerily in the distance. Roshan was sitting in front of some kind of improvised hut, roasting a small animal in fire. The hut was made from bundles of willows tied together to form a slanted roof. On the other end there were two narrow tree trunks, forming a half-triangle.  
Dirthamen was not sure if she was still mad at him, so he slowed his steps as he got closer.  
“Is it safe to approach?” he asked.  
“If you are not going to turn into dragon and drool on me.”, Roshan said dryly. “To be on safe side, I borrowed your clothes.”  
She poked the roasted fennec tentatively with her knife and moved it away from flame.  
“This should be ready. ”  
He sat down next to her, accepting a slice of meat she passed to him.  
“I didn’t expect you would have done so much while I was gone.” Dirthamen said.  
“I’m Dalish.” she replied, keeping her gaze on blood lotus root she was supposedly eating. “I’m far more familiar with living in a forest than in a house. Being on the run isn’t new to me, either.”  
She leaned against his shoulder, still not meeting his eyes. Dirthamen slipped his arm around her waist, holding her close.  
“I used to cook for Andruil too, did you know?” Roshan added lightly. “Sometimes she left game for me – first time I found a bloody rabbit next to my head I freaked out – and since I never had time to gather anything while I ran, it was a good thing. I cooked the hare or whatever she had brought to me, and left half for her, and it was always gone in the morning. I think that was how I survived as long as I did.”  
Roshan watched the flames for a moment before adding:  
“She was a strange one. This whole year has been so strange. And I think I’m tired, Dirthamen. The whole business with my clan and Vir’Abelasan was... Things were not supposed to go this way.”  
Her voice broke in the end, turning in a sob.  
“I’m so sorry.” he whispered.  
“It’s not your fault. Or anyone’s. I mean the part about the baby _is_ your mother’s fault, but my family was happier with brainwashing. As well as the sentinels. Even Solas. Everyone except me. I knew something was wrong the whole time. Whatever happens, whatever trick or plot is played on me, I’m too accustomed to being hunted to stop running. I couldn’t even stay happily brainwashed even though I was _dead_.” she sniffed, tears running along her face.  
“Roshan…”  
“I mean it.”, she wailed. “I’m afraid of heights and spiders and it’s wet and I want to go home but we can’t. I’m really tired of all this, and still I just keep going like some magical toy June built. And we never had a chance to talk about having children or whether you even want children and now we’re stuck here because your father poisoned me with some kind of fertility remedy and we’re having a baby whether we want one or not. I just want to have one thing, even one thing happening to me because I choose it and not because something happened and we had to do it.”  
“I know, gaidhalas, I know.” Dirthamen cradled her. “I wanted to have children with you, but not in the middle of constant dying and bickering and plotting.”  
She didn’t answer, but just held him tighter.  
“Sometimes I wonder if mother was right when she claimed that old soldiers never stop fighting even though the war has ended. In same way, gods don’t stop competing for power even though those who worshipped us are long dead.” Dirthamen said grimly. “This is not how I planned things to go, either.”  
“What did you plan, then?” she asked.  
“I wanted to bond with you, first. A bit sentimental idea, but I would have liked that.” Dirthamen admitted quietly. “Then, after eon or two – or maybe three centuries, if I just couldn’t resist the temptation – I would have asked your opinion about the issue of children. And if you agreed, we would have had several. I was thinking four.”  
He sighed, looking at the flames.  
“Falon’Din would have proved to be a good uncle, I think. He would have had trouble at first, but I wouldn’t have given in. And father would have loved them. He was good to me and my brother when we were little. And we would have moved the house somewhere else, a nicer place for children. Somewhere in the woods. They would have grown up wise and curious and determined. Happy. And they would not have known anything about Evanuris before they reached adulthood.”  
“It would have been lovely.” Roshan said shyly, blowing her nose on a handkerchief.  
“What about you? What do you want?” he asked seriously.  
“I would have wanted to get married, too. I just didn’t know how. The traditional marriage oath includes asking Sylaise to bless our aravel and I don’t want to do that.” she grinned faintly.  
“If we had one, she would probably set it on fire.” Dirthamen remarked. “Forming the bonds between my People took a very long time, and with the baby, I don’t think we have that kind of luxury.”  
“That’s true. But if you wanted, we could get married here.” she suggested carefully.  
“Here?”  
“Under the eyes of the Maker.” Roshan said with fake piety.  
“Father would have a fit.” Dirthamen’s eyes glinted. “I like it.”  
“Would you marry me, then?” she asked. “As soon as we settle down here and finish more urgent tasks. I want to find out a bit more about our surroundings and gather food to survive through winter before making a journey to Haven or Redcliffe chantry.”  
He took her hand and placed it over his heart.  
“I would be honoured, Roshan.”  
“On one condition.” she added. A smile rippled in the corners of her mouth.  
“Which is?”  
“You will not turn into dragon when the priestess tells you may kiss me.”  
“I try my best to avoid ever kissing you again as a dragon. Even though the look of your face was irresistible.” Dirthamen grinned.  
“Fen’Harel was a god of trickery, not you. You were supposed to be the well-behaving Creator. One day, vhenan, I will show you how disgusting dragon’s tongue is. It’s a secret worth adding to your collection.”

 

Weeks passed. Late summer started to turn into autumn, and the cave they had found was getting colder. There was a leaky spot in the corner, and Dirthamen planned to fix it but he never seemed to have time. They were too busy trying to gather what they could find to get through the winter. His ravens brought him no sightings of Inquisition banners. Dirthamen started to wonder if they had jumped to wrong conclusion about this world, and timelines were not as similar as he had expected.

What if the dwarf had failed, and there was no Inquisitor? Roshan had not spoken much about dark future she had seen at Redcliffe when she was the Inquisitor, but it had led her to conscript mages and Dirthamen knew she would not have done the decision lightly. The Dalish society was a magocracy, and she certainly did not share human views of magic being so dangerous that those with talent had to be locked away. But the Dalish set different standards for their mages, saddling them not only with responsibility of their magic but for the welfare of whole clan. Selling everyone to Tevinter slavery was not something any Keeper or First would accept.

If the dwarf had indeed failed, yet the Breach was there, preparations needed to be made. But what kind – Dirthamen wasn’t sure. Each new day with no news of Inquisition added to his worry. The truth was that they were stuck here, in this world, with no way out before the spell activated. On those rare occasions when Dirthamen allowed himself to think of possible consequences of his actions, it felt like drowning. Or suffocating. Or panic. He had brought his pregnant vhenan into unknown territory filled with potential enemies and world-ending disaster, all because he couldn’t trust his own family.

“Stop it.”, Roshan said. “You are brooding again, love.”  
Her face was rosy with cool autumn air and she had pushed the hood of her woollen cloak back.  
“I’m not.” he lied.  
“Tell me what you were thinking, then? You’ve held that one hickory nut for ages. ”, she requested, taking the nut from him and adding it to her basket.  
“About the time I went to Andruil’s party wearing nothing but great white wings and white powder.” Dirthamen offered quickly.  
“All right. You don’t have to tell.” Roshan said simply. “But if there is something wrong, I’d prefer to know. And if there is not, please stop blaming yourself for things which are out of your control. You are not responsible for what your mother did.”  
He looked at her, wondering when he had become so transparent.  
“Sun is shining and the day is pretty, it’s been months since I last died and... I’d just like you to be happy, too.” Roshan said, sounding hesitant. “I'm feeling much better these days even if it was hard at the beginning. Things aren’t so bad.”  
Unthinkingly, she pushed hair off her face like she did when she was nervous. With that simple gesture, the list of numerous objections to their current circumstances vanished before Dirthamen had time to voice any of them. He took a step forwards instead and began to comb her hair aside with his fingers.  
“What is it? Do I have twigs in my hair? Bugs? Or is it a spider?” Roshan asked, shivering. “If it’s a spider, take it off!”  
“It’s not a spider, Roshan.” Dirthamen said. He had become well familiar with his heart’s irrational fear of spiders after they moved in the cave. He would never forget the morning when two tiny ones had hid in her hair while she slept. “It’s your ears. The tips have turned pink.”  
“I’ve never heard anyone’s ears changing colour. Are you certain it isn’t a spider, and you are just trying to distract me while you pick it out? So I wouldn’t shave myself bald like I promised?”  
“I swear, there are no spiders. I ordered the birds to eat them, didn’t I?” Dirthamen assured. He couldn’t help but smile as he looked at her ears. The sight was so familiar, but new, because it was Roshan. Roshan and himself, too.  
“If we were at home, gaidhalas, I’d give you a crown of onyx and obsidian to set them off properly.” he said, gently pushing the last strand away from her face. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close, to get a better look.  
“So my ears suddenly look ridiculous and you are almost purring.” Roshan sighed.  
“It’s a feature of elvhen biology. And the spell you used to remake your body is elvhen origin, isn’t it?” Dirthamen pointed out. “In Elvhenan, the shade and depth of colour of expecting mother’s ears were used to predict the magical talent of her unborn child. It was common for people to offer their offspring into my service, as well as for others, when the colour changes appeared early. I must have seen this hundreds or thousands times before but I was never the cause. Until now.”  
“So this is some kind of symbol of pride for your people?”  
“Pride, power, sexual virility, prestige, claiming. Just to name a few. But there are other uses for it, too.” Dirthamen said. Suddenly he nipped the tip of her ear with his lips, and Roshan startled. He felt a sudden flare of desire in her aura, and blush rose on her face.  
“That was... unexpected.” she said breathlessly.  
“This is where the human theory about elven ears being sensitive originated, I think. There are few other details which could have changed along your ears, and I'd be delighted to find out if it is true. We should have something to look forward to in our wedding night.” he suggested.  
"Creators preserve me.", Roshan whispered.  
"Answer to your plea is... no.", Dirthamen decreed with pleased arrogance. “I find myself unwilling to agree.”  
“To think I actually prayed to you for years.” she shook her head.  
“It’s very understandable. I’m wonderful like that.” he said smugly. “Utterly charming.”  
“You are starting to sound like Falon’Din.”,  
“He is my shadow, and I am his reflection. It’s only natural.”  
He held her tight, and wondered if they would have a daughter or a son? One child, or two? Joy bubbled inside him, and he couldn’t quite hold it. And why should he? He kissed her forehead, wanting her to know what he felt, what hid behind the easy banter and light words. And the smile which lit her face told him that this was a secret she would keep.

\--

It was very early in the morning. Sun had not risen yet, even though there was a faint pink glow near the ever-present Breach. The woods near the Redcliffe farm were quiet and empty except for one thing. Keeper of Secrets was having a meeting with his minions. The ever-present puddle in the corner of their cave had frozen during the night and he had decided that they could no longer postpone the journey to Redcliffe village.

“I’m sure you all know how things usually go whenever I attempt to progress my relationship with Druast’asha.” Dirthamen said to bears and ravens sitting in a neat half-circle circle around him.  
One of the bears, a great grizzled one, made an unintelligible sound and whacked it’s front paw on the ground with thump.  
“Yes. Something freaky happens and she gets killed.” Dirthamen nodded. “But it’s not going to happen at my wedding, and you will make sure of it. I have identified most likely threats and made preparations them.”  
He pointed at the bears.  
“We will take the route from riverbank past the farmlands and mage hideout. You will rampage through the woods, frightening the mages so we can walk at our leisure towards Redcliffe village. Push them towards the templar encampment in southwest so they’ll be occupied until midday or at very least be too busy licking their wounds in Witchwood cave to bother us.”  
“Three of you will assist bears, giving them information on enemy movements.” Dirthamen continued, addressing ravens. “I will deal with rifts on the way, but I have special assignment for the oldest of your flock. Your task is to keep unwanted guests, especially Fen’Harel or any other Evanuris, from ruining my wedding.”  
The ravens jumped and cawed eagerly, their little beady eyes lit with excitement. Solemnly, Dirthamen took a green, glowing glass bottle from his bag and presented it to ravens. He tied a loop of string around the bottleneck for ravens’ to grasp with their talons.  
“Do not drop it before it is time. Judging on how things tend to go, Fen’Harel is likely to appear just before or during our vows.” he warned.  
He looked at the sky. The pinks and purples of sunrise were rapidly spreading, and it was time to go.  
“Have you all understood what I expect from you?” he asked.  
Ravens and bears nodded in unison, their heads bobbing up and down. All of them were eager to please their master.  
“Good. I will take care of those two rifts, now. You will stay here and watch the cave.” Dirthamen addressed a reddish-brown bear. “I don’t want some stray demon to sneak in and kill her the moment I’m gone. Rest of you, take your positions.”  
His form changed fluidly and the elf was gone. A raven took flight towards the field where the first rift was located, and the rest of birds and bears followed its trail with exception of reddish-brown old mother who laid down in the bushes, little black eyes never leaving the cave mouth.

“That looks very curious.” Roshan said, staring at giant terror demon which was snoring on the riverbank. “Even though I must have closed a hundred rifts, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a sleeping demon before.”  
The rift above waterfall was quiet. The despair demon was cuddled next to another terror demon on rocky snore, while the wraiths were slumped in water, looking oddly peaceful.  
“Maybe it’s just too early for them.” Dirthamen replied. “Sloth demons, for example, like to sleep most of the day.”  
“This is strange world.” Roshan shook her head. Her expression brightened. “But since they are asleep, and we don’t have to fight them, I won’t get ichor on my dress.”  
“It would have been a pity.” Dirthamen said, smiling at her.  
“Come.” she said, slipping her hand in his. “We need to get going before demons decide it’s time to start their day.”  
Roshan pulled Dirthamen towards the path at riverbank, and he couldn’t help but smile at her obvious happiness. She had crown of flowers on her head, and the dark pink tips of her ears peeked from underneath. He found them so pretty. His. Soon, finally, she would be his. Father, Falon’Din, mother, Fen’Harel, all the rest of Evanuris be damned. This was Dirthamen’s day, and nothing was going to ruin it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: the wedding at Redcliffe.


	12. The wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roshan gets finally married.

“Move, move!” Edric of House Cadash shouted to his team. “The target has been sighted above ground, moving towards north.”  
The dwarves belonging to his Carta strike team passed Edric in a flurry, their footsteps echoing inside the tunnel.   
“I do not wish to go above ground. There might be pigeons.” the golem said in deep, cranky voice.   
“Our employer doesn’t care whether you are afraid of birds or not.” Edric snapped. “Get your act together. You’ve been going on and on about birds for as long as I remember.”  
“I simply try to remind you of devious nature of birds. I’m not afraid of them, I just hate them. Ever since I suffered through my punishment beneath the Sky, I’ve wanted nothing more than crash their little skulls to stop the banshee wail they are constantly making. The sound boils my blood.”  
“Shut up, Shale. This is a straightforward mission. I don’t need your advice; you are here simply to prove backup muscle if we fail to acquire the rebel elves by surprise attack. The male is priority target; woman is just a bonus.”  
“Does this bonus come in a form of remarkable gem, perhaps?” golem suggested hopefully.   
“King Aeducan knows that House Cadash leads the Carta, and without our deal with Eternal Emperor Orzammar would be overrun by darkspawn, wouldn’t it? There will be remarkable gems for everyone after the mission is successfully completed. Now get going, Shale.” Edric ordered.   
He glanced at small compass in his hand, built to trace a magical signature. The circle of runes around an arrow was still flashing, telling him that their target was touching Stone above ground. When they got closer, his Stone sense would give him a fair approximation on where to burrow through. This should be a straightforward mission, even if he could have used more intelligence from Above. But elves never told him why they wanted someone. Secretive lot.   
“It better be a red ruby if there are birds involved.” the golem muttered as it began to walk towards north. The heavy steps shook the Stone, and Edric followed it into darkness of tunnel which ended in Redcliffe village.  


“Give me readings of ground above, Serik.” Edric commanded, watching the compass.  
The Shaper nodded, placing his hand against the ceiling of the tunnel. He closed his eyes and then said:   
“1641 feet to west, two humanoids. Elves. Based on weight and bone structure, both are Sky-Born.”   
“Sky-born?” Jarvia frowned. “Are you certain? Why would we be sent to hunt Sky-Born elves?”  
“The pressure on Stone does not lie. 175lbs and 140lbs.”, Serik said sharply.   
“According to compass, this is our target. We are paid to capture the male, not to second-guess our employer.” Edric reminded them.  
“And the female?” Jarvia asked.  
“Pull her under. I don’t care what you do, as long as you leave no traces. Now, take your positions.” Edric ended the discussion.   
The dwarves placed their hands against Stone, listening the vibrations of their approaching targets. Behind them, the golem waited, cracking its knuckles.

\--

“I think we should see the village after we climb over that hill.” Roshan said. “If the geography is the same, I mean. This world has been oddly quiet so far. No signs of mages and templars fighting.”  
Dirthamen merely smiled. There were mages and templars, but they were busy running from rampaging bears in the Witchwood.   
“Stop worrying so, gaidhalas. All is well.” he said softly.   
“I know.” Roshan admitted. “It’s just… I think I expect something to swoop down from the sky and ruin the wedding. Just for the principle of it. When have we ever gotten anything nice?”  
“I assure you, love, nothing is going to swoop down—“, Dirthamen began as the ground beneath him suddenly cracked open, and he felt something pulling him.  
Looking down, he saw a crack in the earth, and gloved hands grabbing his ankles. A durgen’len. Old memories from father’s first war against Titans flooded his mind, as bright and terrifying as they had been on the day. Oh, fenedhis lasa! The cracks were opening all around them, now, and he saw something climbing out from widest one. A war golem, decorated with gems.   
“Roshan!” he shouted as a sharp yank pulled him down and the Stone began to close over his head. “ _Get off the ground_. NOW!”  


She couldn’t believe her own eyes. The stone under her feet was opening in fissures all around them, and the ground had swallowed her fiancé. On the day of their wedding. This couldn’t be happening. The stone cracked under her, and she felt something reaching for her. Kicking blindly at it, she collected her mana and stepped through the Fade, aiming towards the nearest tree. Woods. Dirthamen had told her to get off the ground.

Something was rising from the fissure closest to her, but two black birds, ravens, flew past her ear as she pulled herself up to lowest branch. The ravens held something between them. It looked like a grenade. The birds dropped it on the ground, and it exploded into sickly-smelling green goo which covered the ground around her. Roshan knew what it was. Sera had called it “sliming the noble slime.” It worked like a glue, rendering everything in twenty-foot radius immobile.

There was a loud thumping noise coming near the place where Dirthamen had disappeared. A giant creature made from stone and jewels stood there, and its feet made the ground tremble.   
“A tree is not going to stop a golem, even if the flowery elf commands infernal allies.” it announced as it walked towards her. A golem. Roshan had never seen one before, even if Cullen had claimed there had been a golem statue in his home village of Honnleath.  
“Don’t you dare to come any closer.” she said, desperately going through the list of her spells. Did the fireballs work on a golem? Probably not. It was made from stone, and she didn’t think she could make fireballs hot enough in a world where magic was limited by Veil.   
“Flowery elf’s villainous servants have already done their worst to me. A golem does not die if the birds defecate on it, even if it would be preferable. Flowery elf looks pitifully soft. A slight crush will make flowery elf fountain blood and then I will crush your damnable feathery fiends.”  
But the Veil. Yes. This was a world with Veil, even though she didn’t have the anchor. And there were rifts. Even if fire wouldn’t work, stone could hit stone. Quickly, Roshan summoned a boulder from Fade and smashed it against the golem. It didn’t fall like her enemies usually did, being more like Red Templar Behemoths.   
“The flowery elf scratched my glorious gems!” the golem yelled furiously, starting to rampage towards her tree. There was still no sign of Dirthamen, and the fissures on the ground were slowly closing. She couldn’t lose him now, not like this.

Manipulating the Veil faster than she had ever done before, Roshan cast a Pull of Abyss. She twisted the Fade to pull everything towards the centre point of her spell. The golem, green slime, whatever creatures hid under the ground. She bit her lip, forcing the unchanging world to bow to her will. The fissures on the ground could be used to both ways. What went down...? Would come up.

As she released her mana, the Veil formed a swirling tornado. The golem which had almost reached her tree was suddenly wrenched backwards, and suddenly something was rising from the fissures. Dwarves. They couldn’t be anything but dwarves, even if they looked and felt different. She could have sworn they felt like mages to her. They felt like Shaper Valta, but these dwarves were pouring rain on her skin instead of single drop of water. But there was still no sign of Dirthamen.

When she was just giving up, a murder of ravens rose from the largest fissure. The golem started to scream, cowering at the black cloud of birds. The mass of feathers shifted strangely, changing, and Roshan saw a familiar grey dragon taking shape in the air. Its shadow fell on the dwarves, and it breathed frost. Looking around, the beast spied her. With powerful beat of great wings, the dragon dived between trees. Roshan tried not to scream as the beast caught her with jaws, dropping her on its scaled back. The dragon sent another blast towards the attackers before it rose high in the sky, higher than an arrow’s reach and began to fly. Dirthamen had been right. Being held by dragon’s jaws had felt far more secure than trying to stay on dragon’s back while it flew. She kept her eyes tightly closed, holding her arms around dragon’s neck as she hung there for dear life.

 

\--- Northern Orlais ---

If Dorian Pavus disliked one thing in his chosen path, it was the daily service held in the temple courtyard just after the darkness fell. The cold stone floor made his knees ache, and he pulled his dark grey robes closer to his skin. It was damned cold in the south.  
But a warm hand patted his knee, and Dorian remembered why he had forsaken his home and position in Quarinus to choose a life as a priest of a dead god in forgotten and unfashionable temple in south.   
“Stop twitching and listen.” Felix whispered to him, nodding towards the high priest who was reciting the verses of Dumat.

Sethius Amladaris was a man out of legend. It was said that once in the dawn of time, he and six other priests of Old Gods had entered the Golden City to face the Eternal Emperor and demand answers for sudden silence of their gods. But they had been grievously betrayed by the Augur of Mystery, High Priest of Razikale, and cast down from the heavens. It had been all according to plan, the historians said. Sethius and his companions had bought time for Fen’Harel to work a great spell to create the Veil which separated Sky from Stone and Fade from waking world. But the cost to rise against a living god was terrible indeed, and it was visible before Dorian’s own eyes.

Sethius was a man suffering terrible agony. His body was twisted mockery of dead corpse miraculously still living. His face was misshapen and scarred by pieces of dark stone joined with his flesh, and Dorian knew his ribcage was torn open beneath the priestly robes of Dumat. What remained of Corypheus, the Conductor of Silence, was nothing but a tortured body frozen in time, and spirit forever chained inside it. But Sethius Amladaris still went on living. How, Dorian didn’t know, but Felix said it was his faith. And Felix worshipped the man. It had been Felix who had decided to join the servants of Silent God, and Dorian could not help but to follow. Even though he didn’t know if he could stomach such a burned faith as Sethius, Dorian was not blind to his own virtues. In silence of his heart, he loved Felix. Most greatly.

The evening service was going to end soon, Dorian promised to his aching knees. Sethius was already repeating the last lines of verse carved over temple gates.   
“For his Silence conquers all, and his Secrets are shared only with worthy. Look upon the Temple of Dumat… And fear him.” Sethius’ deep voice recited the last warning.  
Dorian was already standing up to leave inside, when something large and dark swooped down from the sky. The rusted veilfire torches set around the temple courtyard lit suddenly, without warning, and he saw the ancient runes carved on a stone flashing purple before they were hidden under a great grey dragon landing on them.  
“It’s a dragon!” Dorian heard himself scream. “Flee!”  
Calpernia was already up, and Servius was running to hide behind a large dragon statue, when Sethius spoke.   
“My lord Dumat.” he said, and his deep voice sounded almost beautiful. Like it must have been before his terrible disfigurement. One had to have a beautiful voice to enter the priesthood. Dorian, naturally, was beautiful in every way.  
The dragon looked at Sethius, who promptly kneeled.   
“I thought it was You. I felt Your presence in Haven, before the accident, but my faith was weak and I didn’t believe it was possible.” the High Priest said, and his expression bordered tears. “Forgive me for my weakness, o Dumat. We are ready to serve.”  
The dragon watched him in cold, appraising manner. Then it slowly lifted up one of its great wings, and Dorian couldn’t help his curiosity. He sneaked closer, peeking behind one of the statues to see.  
Under dragon’s wing, there was an elven woman with a circle of flowers on her head. She stood up slowly, on shaking legs, leaning against the dragon for support. When she saw Sethius, her eyes widened, and a look of fear and anger spread on her face. But the dragon was faster. The great beast nuzzled her with his snout, and Dorian could see how all fight bled out of her. She looked very tired and frightened.  
Something had happened to Sethius, because he stood up, bowing deeply.   
“We will do as you command, Silent One. This is an honor. Please follow me.”  
The woman shook her head slowly, still looking a bit shocked, but she followed Dumat and Sethius.   
“What are you waiting for?” Sethius stopped on the stairs, addressing Dorian and the rest of the acolytes. “This is Dumat, the God who you have sworn to serve in silence. He wishes to marry this woman. I will officiate, and Dorian shall sing. The rest of you, sweep the inner sanctum immediately and prepare it for Dumat and his bride.”

It was one of the strangest weddings Dorian had ever participated to. He pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t in the Fade, but the bruise on the back of his hand told it was all true. He sang the archaic tune in a language he didn’t even know, from ancient tablet given to him by Sethius, and there were tears in woman’s eyes as she stood at the altar with a giant dragon.   
Dorian thought he would cry, too, if he was stolen from his home by a giant dragon and then wedded to it. There were stories about it, too. Everyone had heard the folktales about dragons demanding virgins from remote villages. The girls were dressed to nines and then sent to be sacrificial victims to sate dragon’s hunger. The idea of marrying one’s meal was probably some kind of kink.

He felt quite terrible as the elven woman followed the dragon inside inner sanctum. Calpernia, Servius and Samson had cleaned the room up in haste. They had stolen every pillow in the temple to make a giant bed for a dragon, and spread flowers all over the room. There was even a wine decanter and food waiting on a gilded table, and Dorian tried to silence a morose thought of poor woman’s last meal when the double doors closed after Dumat and his unfortunate bride.  
“One of you will stay here in case Dumat requires anything. Otherwise he is not to be disturbed.” Sethius said. “Samson, you will do it. The rest of you, go to sleep.”  
As the others were leaving, Dorian was relieved it wasn’t him or Felix. Cleaning up the remains of Dumat’s bride would be a terrible way to begin his morning.


	13. Dumat's temple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirthamen gives Roshan something to keep. Dorian has religious crisis. Corypheus tells his god what happened to Old Gods.

As she slumped down on the pillows, snuggling against the dragon who already snored, one thought followed her into Fade. She had just married a dragon. Corypheus had married her to a dragon. And all Roshan could think about was what her mother would have said about that.

So it wasn’t really surprising that she found herself dreaming about walking in the woods with her mother.  
“Keeper told me what you have been up to.” her mother reproached. “Did you truly think I wouldn’t find out?”  
The long-suffering sigh and the slow shake of head were just like mother. Sylaise’s fading mark on her mother’s brow was right colour, too.  
“I always knew you were a difficult one, Roshie, but can’t you take easy way at least once? Find a decent man with enough patience to put up with you. There is no need to make it any harder than that. By Mythal’s grace, what are you waiting for?”  
Roshan considering saying something, but her mother was already switching topics. She knew better than trying to interrupt the familiar rant.  
“And you are getting older, too. It’s not like you can wait forever. All my friends already have grandchildren, and Lyna had her fourth baby this year. You were born two days apart. And Lyna doesn’t have magic. Your excuses are running out, da’len. I know you are a good girl, but you need to take your mind off the Beyond and focus on real things. Real life.”  
Mother’s rant was suddenly frozen, and Dirthamen walked out from the shadows.

“I thought you might show up.”, she said, smiling shyly at him as the dream around them changed.  
“It’s our wedding night.” he replied. “I had plans how I wanted it to go, but I find myself... a bit lost, I think.”  
Dirthamen looked at her, and there it was again. That odd feeling of shyness as she stood there. Slowly, tentatively, Roshan reached for him. He met her in halfway, and she let go of breath she hadn’t known she had held when Dirthamen pulled her into embrace.  
“It’s foolish to think things would have changed just because we got married.” she said against his shoulder. “I don’t care if it was Corypheus saying the words. I would have done it in Chantry or with Sylaise or even the Maker himself to have you.”  
He pulled away, holding her hands.  
“But I want things to change. To be different.” Dirthamen said. “I don’t want us to end up like my mother and father did. “  
“What do you mean?” Roshan asked.  
“I know myself. I’m not immune to thrill of power. If I had my way, world would be different. I had a chance to change the face of Thedas once, and I took it. If similar chance was represented to me again, I don’t know if I could not take it. And you know how well that ended.” he gave her a small smile. “Most of things Fen’Harel told you about us were true. This is the face I want you to see, but it is not everything I am. I had slaves. I had priests, spies. I did unsavoury things when I was Keeper of Secrets. And I could become him again one day. I can’t promise that will not happen.”  
“Dirthamen, people change. They change all the time, whether they are married or not. My mother, for all her nagging, told me once that the trick was to choose to walk the same path. There will be days when you think I’m insufferable, and I scream at you being overly dramatic, but happy days will outnumber them. It happened thus to everyone I knew in my clan.”  
“Normally it would.” he said softly. “But we are not equals. I’m older than you. Stronger than you. Better mage. If there was a fight, I would win, and we both know it. I don’t want to have that kind of power over you. Because if I do, one day you don’t dare to tell me to run and call me a fool.”  
Roshan closed her eyes. He was referencing the day they had met, when she had called him an idiot for provoking the templars. She had thought him just an ordinary man then.  
“I know.” she admitted, even if she didn’t want to. But it was true. She had experienced herself how twisted things could become between Evanuris, not to mention with Evanuris. She and Dirthamen were happy now, but who could know what would happen three or four thousand years later? And even if they were still in love, what about their baby? Having children was a dividing factor. If she was called to choose between her husband and her baby one day, Roshan couldn’t rightly say what she would do. Elgar’nan had chosen his son in that situation, deciding to take the blame for Mythal’s death, and she didn’t know him well enough to tell what exactly it had cost her father-in-law. Had he still loved Mythal? And if he had, how it had felt to know Mythal had planned him to die?  
“I don’t want that to happen.” Dirthamen said. “So I decided to ask if you would keep something for me.”  
Roshan opened her eyes, uncertain of what he meant.  
“You know the secret of effective immortality.” Dirthamen continued. “You have used it often enough. One must have a returning point, an anchor of sorts which pulls spirit back from the Beyond. It can be an item, or a person, or basically anything which can touch the Fade. Mother’s Well of Sorrows provided the call for you, but dragons were most often used for their strength and longevity.”  
“Old Gods?” she asked curiously.  
“Yes. A soul can be split for security. It’s like a sleeping fragment of a person, held securely until conditions are met for releasing it. In our own world, I had two dragons, but Dumat was corrupted and slain. One still remains, and I have one last piece with me. I can’t make more of them, not without resources I’ve lost.”  
“But it’s madness! Darkspawn could find your last dragon any day, and then you would be just as mortal as I!” Roshan pointed out.  
“Yes.”, Dirthamen nodded.  
“Can’t you give the last piece to Falon’Din? You trust him. He would keep you safe.”  
“He is the only person in whole world who can’t hold it.”, Dirthamen sighed. “We are twin souls. The bond goes deeper than blood or even love. My People believe that those born like we were originally one spirit, which split into two before birth of our bodies. If I gave the last piece to Falon’Din, it would return into him. We would become one again, not two.”  
“Falon’Din’s lust for power, driven by intellect and knowledge. His impatience tempered by your foresight. And your flair for dramatic combined with his vanity.” she shook her head. It was a terrible thought.  
“I want to give it to you, instead. You could hold my immortality within your own soul.” he said simply.  
“But... You could die.” Roshan was speechless. “What if I die? What if it’s stolen from me? Can it be stolen?”  
“If you died, it would simply return to me. But if I died, it would be up to you to decide whether to open the seals and let me return. And if I change; if one day I’m no longer the man who loves you but something worse, you would still have the upper hand. Even the worst tyrant does not hurt someone who holds his immortality in her hands. And if he did... You could let me out then, me as I am today. I would save you, even from myself.”  
She felt like she was going to cry.  
“It’s a terrible risk you are taking, Dirthamen. What if I change?”  
“I know you, gaidhalas. You died for a sake of a foolish stranger and again because you thought I was an unwilling victim of mother’s spell and you didn’t want to hurt me. You are my heart, and I love you. I told you I don’t want us to end up like my parents. And this is my plan to change it. I will trust you with my life.”  
He took her hands in his. Roshan shook her head slowly and looked at Dirthamen.  
“You just couldn’t resist the timing, could you? We got married, and you offer me your life. Literally.”  
“That is not an answer.” he reminded her. Dirthamen knew she could see right through him, and the thought made him feel ridiculously happy.  
“I will keep you safe.” Roshan whispered and kissed him.

\--

It was not a spell, but a song.

Solas had spoken about spells of ancient elves and how echoes of spells would linger for centuries, harmonizing with new magic in unending symphony. Roshan had taken it as a romantic sentiment at the time, nothing more. Now that she thought of it, she felt like a fool. The pieces of the puzzle had been there all the time, right in front of her. Cole had often referred magic as music. The Chantry claimed that Andraste had sung to Maker, and templars said that lyrium sang when they ingested it. Dwarves spoke of singing stone.

Back when she was First, Roshan had often played a game trying to guess what kind of magic was each Creator’s speciality. Death magic was powerful, and naturally Falon’Din’s domain. Fire was Sylaise’s, lightning belonged to Elgar’nan while Ghilan’nain was a shapeshifter. Andruil was clearly a battlemage and June enchanted items. But she had never quite understood what was meaning behind all those mosaics where Dirthamen held hands on his mouth. Keeping the secrets in, probably, but why? What was the point of passively refusing to do something?

Those mosaics were a wonderful joke. Because now she knew Dirthamen manipulated the Fade and changed the world by singing. The melody of his magic was still filling her ears, pure and no longer hidden by Veil or any of his attempts to downplay his voice. The piece she held, his immortality, was not an item. It was his song.

“Excuse me?” a very polite voice spoke, drawing her back from the half-sleep. “I don’t mean to disturb Your Silence, but it’s already midday, and I was sent to inquire if you wish to eat something. Also, Samson says that if there are charred bones, they should be collected away before the whole temple starts to smell.”  
Roshan blinked, wondering why it was still dark if it was midday, but then she understood. She had slept under dragon’s wing. She poked Dirthamen, who stirred in his sleep and moved his wings just enough to let her crawl out. She was hungry, and the part about charred bones sounded somewhat disturbing. Dirthamen breathed ice, not fire. Or was Dumat of this world different?  
“What did you mean about charred bones?” she asked from Dorian who stared at her like he had seen a ghost. “Do you have breakfast here? Or any books about history of the world?”

\--

It was getting clearer by day that serving the Silent God was not like Dorian had envisioned. It all had started when it became evident that Dumat had not eaten his bride. She had crawled out beneath his wing, requested breakfast and as many books about history of the world as they could find from the temple.

The very next night, Dorian had dreamed of Dumat who told him to feed his bride and bring her books about history, geography and current political climate. As entertainment went, Dorian thought that nonfiction was pretty crappy distraction from impeding death, but Dumat _was_ supposed to be the unheeding god.

“I have to say I feel bad for her. Being fattened for dragon’s meal is a grim fate for a nice girl.” Dorian mentioned to Felix as they prepared the dishes in kitchen.  
“I think her ears are some kind of secret sign telling when she’s ready. In my dreams, Dumat told me to obtain a comb and ribbons for braiding so he can see them.” Felix sighed. “It’s a pity. But we must remember the holy verses. No words of desire may sway His will.”  
“She told me her name yesterday. Roshan. Now I feel worse about her getting eaten. It was easier when she was just a woman, you know?” Dorian said regretfully.  
“Dorian, it is all for a greater purpose. And doesn’t she seem happy enough? Her position is not hopeless one. How many people can claim to have married a god? She is fed and cared for, and chosen for unimaginable glory.”  
“To get eaten.” Dorian muttered.  
“Andraste was burned at stake. I’m certain Dumat has a better purpose for His Bride.”, Felix said like a true believer. “Now go and take the food to her before it cools.”

“I have to say that I do like this better than living in a wet forest.” Roshan decided as Dorian offered her a plate filled with peeled grapes. She had just woken from a nap, and was still partially covered by dragon’s wing. Dorian had noticed that Dumat usually kept her very close, preferring to hide her under his wing whenever she slept.  
Popping a grape in her mouth, she continued, addressing the great dragon:  
“I swear I’ve put on weight since we came here. Your priests are feeding me like I had been starving.”  
The dragon pushed another plate closer to her with his snout.  
“Yes, yes.” she sighed. “But if I eat all that, I can’t button up my trousers anymore.”  
The dragon had devilish glimmer in his black eye. Looking at Roshan, he slowly and purposefully ran the tip of his tongue along his lips. Dorian couldn’t believe his own eyes. Dumat was _leering_.  
“Don’t you dare!” Roshan exclaimed. “You know I hate dragon drool!”  
She took the plate dragon had offered and gave a dirty look at Dumat, who looked smug. Dorian had never thought a reptile could radiate smugness, but he had never thought to see an Old God with his own eyes, either. This was not what he had expected when he became a priest. Not at all.  
Roshan was looking at him, now, with a friendly smile.  
“Your god is a blackmailer.” she informed Dorian. “Threatening me with sloppy dragon kisses if I don’t eat enough.”  
“I wasn’t aware of that. But it fits.” Dorian admitted.  
“Fits to what?” she requested.  
“Verses of Dumat. Our holy scriptures. Aren’t you familiar with them?”  
“Not really.” Roshan replied. “I mostly try not to think about them.”  
“It’s quite understandable in your situation.” Dorian said, feeling terrible. He was just about to say something heretical he might regret, when Calpernia came into room.  
“It’s finished, o Silent One.”, she said, kneeling respectfully. She held a bundle of white fabric in her arms.  
The dragon looked at Dorian, and suddenly he heard a whisper in his mind.  
_“Turn around.”_  
Dumat had never spoken to him directly before. Only to Sethius. Dorian knew there were some high dragons still living in Thedas, but they were beasts. Not capable of speech, and especially not telepathy. Nobody was capable of telepathy, not even best mages of Tevinter. He swallowed and turned around.  
“Thank you, Calpernia.” he heard Roshan saying. There was a rustle of fabric.  
“I will take these away, hallowed lady.” Calpernia said and hurried away.  
“You may turn back now, Dorian.” Roshan called him. “Take the dishes away.”  
When he turned, he saw something horrible. She was standing next to Dumat, smoothing the fabric of a new white dress she wore. And there was unmistakable small bump in her middle.  
Dorian fled the room.

“We were wrong, Felix. She isn’t fat. I think she’s…” Dorian swallowed. “I think she’s pregnant.”  
Felix’s eyes were as wide as plates.  
“How?” the Tevinter breathed. “He is a dragon. Very large dragon. And she’s an elf.”  
“Maybe it was the tongue.” Dorian said hopefully. “It’s rather thick, and Dumat does leer at her sometimes. I saw.”  
“Oral sex doesn’t make woman’s belly swell. But I told you this morning that Dumat must have a purpose for all this. Maybe this is his Holy Purpose. Do you think she’ll lay eggs, like dragons do? Or will it be a live birth? Or maybe Dumat’s progeny will eat their way out of her womb? What will a Child of Old God look like?”  
“I don’t want to think of it, Felix. Holy Silence is absolutely required in this matter. And some of the holy wine, too. I’m going to get drunk to forget what you just said. And you have the night shift.”

 

When the double doors of inner sanctum were sealed for the night and the priests withdrew, Roshan asked a question which had bugged her for all day.  
“Has something happened with your priests, Dirthamen? They are all looking very oddly at me, like I had suddenly grown a second head or something.”  
“You refer to Dorian and Felix, I presume?” he asked as he shifted back into his own form. Something was greatly amusing him. She could tell.  
“Yes. I think Dorian left rather abruptly.”  
“They have decided I’m not fattening you for a meal like they originally thought. The frightened looks are because they believe you had sex with a dragon, yet they can’t decide how you survived it.”, Dirthamen informed her.  
“It was divine intervention, naturally.”, Roshan suggested innocently. “As your priests, surely they should have more faith in your talents.”  
“Maybe they need a reminder.” Dirthamen decided. “I’m not going to cast the silence spell just yet.”  
“No, they don’t.”, Roshan shook her head firmly.  
“They do.”, he decided and leaped on the bed, starting to tickle her mercilessly.  
“Get off me, you lout!” Roshan laughed, trying to squirm away. “You flatten me!”  
“I don’t think they heard you yet.” Dirthamen told her. “You need to try harder, gaidhalas. I know you can do better than this.”  
“Oh, I get it.”, Roshan grinned. She knelt on the bed, spread her arms in fake supplication and raised her voice.  
“Oh, please, no, Most Holy Dumat! This small and fragile body is unworthy to receive your attentions. I would scream and beg and moan like I always do, ruining your blessed silence!”  
Dirthamen’s shoulders were shaking, and he was biting his fist not to laugh out loud.  
“Look upon the lady dragon in Lady Shauna’s valley! She is much better suited to be the vessel of your pleasure. If you only visited her, master, you could conquer her in silence. I’m but a weak woman, unable to keep words of desire from my lips. Once you held me, Dumat, and I no longer fear. If a gruesome death waits me in your embrace, I go to my fate willingly, because I cannot help myself; the Veil holds no uncertainty for one who has tasted the essence of your divine maleness--”  
Her speech was suddenly interrupted by an extremely strong spell cutting off all sound from Dumat’s chambers.

Dirthamen laid on the bed, gasping for breath as he laughed so hard that his eyes watered.  
“The essence of your divine maleness? Seriously, gaidhalas?”  
“You told me to do better. ‘Sucking your draconic dick’ would have been too crass.” Roshan sniffed. “Besides, if one is going to mate a huge dragon and die, metaphors should be done in dignified, tragic manner.”  
“Like the part with the Veil?” Dirthamen asked, trying helplessly to calm down.  
“It wasn’t my idea. I stole it from Chant of Light. There was some part where Veil holds no uncertainty for her, because Maker is her fire and water… Or something. I never bothered to memorize it properly.”  
Roshan snuggled next to him, a thought coming to her mind.  
“How long we are planning to stay here, vhenan?” she asked.  
Dirthamen settled comfortably on his side, resting his hand on her newly rounded belly.  
“You saw the dwarves. For some reason I haven’t found out yet, some of them still retain the same skills they had in our world before father won the war against them. They can control any surface made from stone, worked or unworked. In war, it was common for them to wait underground and pull our soldiers through, leaving them sealed inside stone until they suffocated. They are resistant to magic, but can be killed with conventional weapons or shapeshifting.”  
“Do you think they had reason to stalk us? They were more interested in you, clearly.” Roshan said, looking worried. “What if they follow us here?”  
“It is likely that dwarves were waiting for something in the area. It could have been the dwarf we met in Conclave or something yet unknown. I’m looking into it. But you don’t need to be worried. Builders of this temple were clearly not friends with durgen’len. The ground below the temple, as well as the outer walls, are lined with iron. Ten feet thick. I found the memory of the place being built.”  
“But we still need to hide somewhere. It’s been only five months. We have seven left.” Roshan frowned. “I’ve been reading, but there are no mentions of first Inquisition anywhere. I wonder if there is a second one, either.”  
“We will leave if it’s necessary, but I think this is good place to lay low for now. This is safe from dwarves, quite remote and not very popular, and the people here are Dumat’s sworn servants. I can play a role of their god well enough.” Dirthamen comforted her. “But I will speak to Corypheus and ask more about the history of this world. It never hurts to be prepared.”

\--

Dumat’s return had changed everything for Sethius Amladaris. First time for a very long time, he felt they had hope. The young ones in the temple didn’t understand what they truly beheld. They were confused by small things, like presence of Dumat’s bride. But Sethius understood better. He had seen a living god before. He had heard Dumat whispering his commands in his dreams, and Dumat had told him to lead their desperate crusade against the Eternal Emperor. Gods were not like other men, and their appetize was not sated by simple pleasures of mortals. The woman was not significant.  
Dumat spent his time sleeping, searching in the Fade. And Sethius prepared himself to accept the inevitable price of his failure. When the summons came, he was ready.

“Tell me what happened since I last spoke to you.” a whisper slithered in his dream. He found himself in the inner sanctum, but it was empty except for the Claws of Dumat. Sethius knelt, bowing his head.  
“You had told me to hurry. I met with Magisters Sidereal, the other High Priests, under a disguise and false name. Each of them had gotten a similar message from his God. We sought a way to set you free and break into Golden City.”, Sethius whispered. His lips were dry, and the words did not come easily. “We collected three fourths of the lyrium Tevinter had, and prepared to sacrifice thousands upon thousands of slaves. But then, when we were just about to begin, something terrible happened. You went silent, master.”  
“The silence was not like Your Holy silence. This was filled with utter emptiness. It felt like world stood still, and something changed. The secrets we kept for you curled and blackened like dead leaves in our minds, and fear began to claw my heart. I no longer could tell the difference between a truth and a lie.” Sethius’ voice rasped. His ruined lungs were making wheezing noise and he tried to hold back his tears. His burned faith still hurt, after all these years.  
“You were gone, Dumat. I could feel it. The strange affliction began to spread. Next night, it took Zazikel. His Madman of Chaos became truly mad. We feared, master. And we saw no other option than to move forwards. There was no time. Then we met Fen’Harel.”  
“Dread Wolf?” Dumat’s whisper was sharp.  
“He told us that something terrible had been born, and if we did not hurry, it would descend upon mankind. He said he had a plan to stop it, to cast a great spell between us and the thing which had killed our gods. Which was still killing our gods. He sent us to face Eternal Emperor. And we failed to save you.”  
“Show me this Eternal Emperor.”, Dumat commanded.  
Sethius called upon the memory of a face he would never forget, presenting the secret to his god. The dreamscape around him changed to reflect his offering, and he shivered as he once again found himself watching at the terrible beauty of Eternal Emperor.

Dumat was silent for a long time. When he finally spoke again, his words were cool and collected:  
“Tell no one that I have returned. Find out everything you can about Eternal Emperor. Discreetly. Leave no tracks to follow, and do not fail me again.”  
“It will be done, master.”, Sethius promised.

 


	14. The emperor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirthamen sends Dorian to important mission because he can't make up his own mind about going. Dorian makes a fatal slip. There is a heroic, dramatic sacrifice. Roshan does not appreciate it at all even though arguments for it are solid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter spans over few months. The 12-month pregnancy timeline goes roughly like this: 
> 
> month 1: Roshan dies and comes back from the dead, Halamshiral party.  
> month 3: Dirthamen and Roshan decide to get married and travel to Redcliffe (sort of)  
> month 4: they arrive to shrine of Dumat  
> months 4 - 7: this chapter

In Roshan’s dreamscape, the fires of the Clan Lavellan burned in darkening forest. She had begun to dream of her family more often these days. It was wistful thing to see, because what she dreamed of could never become reality. There would never be a gathering around fire, where Keeper of Secrets sat among the Dalish, arm around Roshan’s shoulders and laughed at some joke her brother was cracking. But the fire reflected from her face, painting her dark red hair with coppery tones, and she was happy. Dirthamen didn’t have heart to shatter the dream just now, so he slipped inside it instead, taking the place by her side.

He watched the dream to its end, playing along. Roshan’s mother had stopped nagging, he noted. She was offering congratulations for the baby, while her brother pestered them with well-meaning advice. As the fire burned into embers and night grew late, Roshan finally stood up and took his hand.  
“Thank you for humouring me with this.” she said as she led him deeper in the woods. “It was nice, even though it wasn’t true.”  
“You knew it was me all along?” Dirthamen asked.  
“Vhenan, I have some experience telling particular dreams apart from usual ones. Even though I no longer have the anchor, I haven’t forgotten the signs.” Roshan replied. Her lips curved in dry smile. “And it’s not like I did anything else than walked in the Fade all night long with Solas when I was Inquisitor. I would plead him to take me along, to show me things. I found it fascinating.”  
Dirthamen felt slighted. She had never asked him to take her anywhere in the Fade. She didn’t even ask him for secrets, or knowledge, even though his were vastly superior to Wolf. Why? She had just admitted being curious.  
“Of course, it mostly ended the same way every time.” she added with amusement. “Fade sex.”  
“Ah.” he said shortly.  
“I liked the paintings, too.” Roshan mentioned.  
“What paintings?” Dirthamen asked sharply.  
“Solas painted the walls of his room in Skyhold in old style. Frescoes of my actions as Inquisitor so I would be remembered. I was flattered back then, but the true meaning of the gesture became become clear much later. He painted me because he was planning to destroy my world, but he couldn’t bear to forget.” Roshan said absently.  
“Wouldn’t it have been far smarter not to kill you or destroy your world?” Dirthamen pointed out. Because that was what _he_ had done. The smart thing.  
“Yes, but not as half as romantic.” his wife replied. “Look, vhenan. The star constellations are different here. Is it because we are in different world? Does it change the Fade as well?”  
Keeper of Secrets felt extremely sour as he turned his attention to her question.

 

In following days, Dirthamen decided he had overreacted. He didn’t like Solas. It was as simple as that. It was natural to dislike Roshan’s former lovers, especially the one who had ruined his life. But the Wolf was dead and she had killed him herself, despite paintings. Roshan had never tried to kill Dirthamen, so it was obvious whom she liked better. Thanks to his excellent spell of freeing her from Well of Sorrows, Solas was no longer part of their daily life even in ghostly form. And if Fade sex was issue, he could do it, too. He could do it _better_.

Unfortunately, there was an issue of second Wolf to consider. Despite his deep reluctance to do so, Dirthamen had to meet Fen’Harel of this world to ask a very important question from him. Appearances could deceive; nobody knew it better than Dirthamen. But he had seen the face of Eternal Emperor, and it had chilled him to bone. He had to have Emperor’s name, now, and Fen’Harel was only one who could give him that.

The problem was whether to take Roshan with him or not.

Generally, Dirthamen wasn’t in favour of dragging his pregnant wife to unknown and potentially dangerous missions. But it was an undeniable fact that best way to keep Roshan alive was not to let her out of his sight. The reason for this phenomena was still elusive, but his best curse experts had been working on that for almost two years, now. (He fully expected to have some answers when they returned home.) She could die the moment he left the room, or if they were in same area without line of sight – the sadly famous boulder accident in the battle of Jader came to mind - but if they were together, she lived. That was why he could sleep at night.

Roshan’s preferred technique to deal with enemies was to charge into fray, heedless of the risk, and simply get up with defiant bloody grin after she’d been killed. Falon’Din claimed it was fantastic for ruining enemy morale, (which _was_ true) but as strategies went, it wasn’t viable. With the baby, prospect of death had become twice as bad. Normally Dirthamen would have taught her to create her own return point for effective immortality, or at least to change her shape to escape bad situations, but either option wasn’t possible as long as she was pregnant. Elvhen gestation was delicate process, which had more to do with magic than biology. Certain kind of spells were not preferable at all while others were encouraged. As a rule of thumb, pregnant women should be kept away from strong elemental spells and influences since it could upset the process of creating a new body for the spirit caught by creation magic. Shapeshifting was horrible idea. Necromancy was simply not done. Ever.

Dirthamen liked to think himself as a man who had standards. Until they had arrived to Dumat’s temple, none of them had been met. He wanted to see Roshan taking naps in the middle of the day if she was tired (it was good for her _and_ offered a chance to impress her with some properly thought-out Fade sex, as soon as he had finished his plan for that), eat enough and not to be disturbed by bloodthirsty dwarves, his scheming mother or other annoyances. She was happy, leaning against his scales and reading books while his priests waited at her hand and feet. That’s how it was supposed go in Dirthamen’s opinion. Except the dragon part, but it could not be helped right now.

Since he wasn’t sure what the best choice was, Dirthamen did the same thing as always. He decided to wait and see. And send Dorian to contact Fen’Harel. The priest was starting to annoy Dirthamen with his constant disapproval. Even if the man thought he was having sex with his wife as a dragon, it was none of Dorian’s business. Besides, if Dirthamen ever decided to attempt such thing, it would not have been as lethal as Dorian thought. All High Dragons were essentially female. Males didn’t grow wings even if humans had dubbed Dumat a male god.

So goodbye to Dorian who didn’t know first thing about dragon anatomy, and he’d wait for a while before he made up his mind about Fen’Harel. Dirthamen simply wished to linger with his wife a bit longer. The tips of her ears had darkened to dusty rose, and he knew what it meant. They were going to have a Dreamer baby. If dragons could purr, he would have.

\--

The wagon stopped abruptly, and Malika Cadash heard the sound of bar being lifted. She was not surprised to see the stern face of Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, Divine Justinia’s Right Hand peering inside.  
“There is a rift nearby. You are required.” the woman announced simply.  
The weather outside was bright, and Cadash had to blink for several seconds before her sight adjusted to light glinting off snow. It had been late summer when she infiltrated the Conclave. When snow had fallen? They didn’t have torches inside a prison wagon, and her hand did not glow enough to light her surroundings. But she spied a familiar-looking green rift above a meadow. By the looks of it, Inquisition party had already dealt with first wave of demons but there were always more. She rattled her chains, drawing attention from Cassandra and Fen’Harel.  
“If you want me to close the rift, I need to lift up my hand for that.” Cadash reminded them. “And unless you have a death wish, you’d better be quick about it.”  
Fen’Harel turned to look at her. His long, copper locks fell on her hand as he ran a finger over her chains, lengthening them enough to give Cadash mobility she needed. It was sore disappointment every time. If the elven mage had not tagged along, Cassandra would have used normal chains and her chances to escape would have been far better.  
But she had known the cost when she had accepted the job. Muttering under her breath, Cadash marched towards rift as fast as the chains on her legs allowed. She was making so much noise that she couldn’t get why the demons on other side of the Veil hadn’t heard it yet.  
To be honest, nobody should have been so surprised when a giant Pride demon started to wriggle through the rift just when she was closing it.  
“Fen’Harel! Dispel it!” Cassandra yelled.  
“I don’t have any left!”  
“Allow me.”, a breathless voice said behind Cadash. With a flourish, a man wearing Tevinter-style priestly robes swirled his staff and sent a spell towards the rift. The barely formed shape of Pride demon dissolved before the creature got through, and Cadash bit her teeth together, sending more of cursed green magic to close the damned thing.  
“Dorian Pavus at your service. I bear a message from my master. Dumat, Dragon of Silence wishes to speak with you.” the newcomer directed his words to Fen’Harel.  
“Dumat? Don’t you mean Sethius Amladaris?” Cassandra asked.  
“Unfortunately, no.”, Dorian said, looking like he had bitten something rotten. “I mean the huge dragon nesting at the shrine of Dumat. We peel grapes to him during the day and he spends his nights ravishing innocent maidens. Not a nice person, Dumat.”  
The tattoo under Cadash’ hair began to itch.

\--

Roshan pressed her face against the crook of his neck, breathing deep. It was important.  
“What are you doing?” he asked, chuckling low.  
“Breathing you.” she said. “I’m not ready yet for morning to come.”  
She felt him shook his head, and she could imagine the gentle amusement in his eyes.  
“What am I like?”  
“There is ink. Tea leaves. Velvet and cool night air.” she answered, not opening her eyes yet. “It’s not the same when you are a dragon. You don’t smell like home then.”  
Sweat was cooling off their bodies, and she felt cold. Dirthamen pulled the covers around them, wrapping them away from the rest of this strange world. Roshan sneaked her leg over his thigh, twisting sideways a bit, and let out a contended sigh as the weight of her stomach settled over him. Bliss.  
“Once the God of Secrets, now nothing but a glorified mattress for my heart. Oh, how low the mighty fall.” Dirthamen remarked.  
“Your baby is getting heavy.” she informed him. “Be a nice boy and just stay still so I can sleep a bit longer.”  
“You have no respect for me at all.”  
“You are wrong, vhenan. The trick you did with your tongue was very respectable.” she assured him. “Although...”  
“Although what?” he asked languidly.  
“I would respect you enormously if you rubbed my lower back a bit.”  
Dirthamen shifted under her, pulling her higher so he could reach with left hand, too. He searched for a moment, then placed his thumbs over the sore spot and pressed hard. Roshan let out a pleased hiss as something in her back gave in and warmth flooded into tense muscles. Oh, Creators.  
“I could teach you to do this.” Dirthamen said as he rubbed her back. His strong fingers kneaded the tense spots, teasing them open and sending little specks of magic along the pathways which made up her flesh. “It would be more practical than waiting the whole day for me to change shape.”  
“I don’t want to.” Roshan muttered, sinking in lovely drowsiness. She was going slip into Fade and never come back again. “I like when you do it.”  
Then she heard someone banging at the door.  
“Most Holy! There is breakfast.”  
The baby stirred, and gave her a stiff kick. Groaning, Roshan rolled off Dirthamen and began searching for her backpack. She found the peculiar jar Elgar’nan had sent her on their last day at Halamshiral and put it on the table. It was a good night lamp, dim enough not to hurt her eyes when she was still tired.  
She found Dirthamen’s velvet robe from the floor near the table. It was what she wore these days, having grown too large for her own clothes. She tied her hair with a ribbon and was just reaching for Elgar’nan’s lightning jar to put it away, when the whole temple shook.

She screamed as the impact threw her on the floor, and the ceiling above them broke in hundreds of shards. The jagged pieces rained over her barrier, instinctually cast the moment she had hit the floor stomach first.  
“Surrender in the name of Eternal Emperor!” someone shouted in elvish.  
Roshan looked up to the sky. She saw dozens of elves mounted on griffons circling above the broken roof, and something else. It looked like portal of some sorts, flashing and swirling in same manner as eluvian did. The griffon riders closest to portal were dividing to two lines, one on each side. A man stepped out from it, holding a shepherd’s crook. He looked down and when his eyes met Roshan’s, her heart skipped a beat. His eyes were fully black without any white in them, but the planes of his face were so very familiar to her. If not for terrible eyes, she could have mistaken him for Dirthamen or Falon’Din. The hair was shorter, the lines of mouth even more proud, but the magic was unmistakable. It held the shadowy quality of Dirthamen’s spells but if there were daffodil fluff, Roshan thought, it had wilted long time ago. Power radiated him like he was a bonfire amongst a sea of candles, and his gaze stopped on Dirthamen in dragon form.  
“Bring us our reflection.” the Emperor said, lifting his crook, and his soldiers sprung alive.

Dirthamen moved first. The dragon swung its powerful tail, causing another part of the ceiling collapse. The stone rained down, and Roshan crawled under table, still holding a lighting jar in her hands. A moment later, Dirthamen flung himself next to her in his elven form, sending a final blast upwards. There were screams coming from the other parts of the temple, now. She recognized some of the voices. Samson and Felix, the thundering of Corypheus. The sound of falling stones was deafening, and she couldn’t make out the words.

They had been caved in, she thought dizzily. It was fully dark except for the lighting jar, which seemed to burn with brighter flame now.  
“Roshan.”, Dirthamen said. There was blood on his face. “I need to get you out of here. There is no time.”  
“No! I won’t leave you alone with that creature calling himself Emperor!” she shook her head defiantly. “If we run, we should do it together.”  
“If Corypheus speaks true, that man has killed all other Evanuris in this world.” Dirthamen spoke fast. “And I think that he might be both of us.”  
“He killed his twin soul?” Roshan felt terror rising in her heart.  
“I will delay them and distract him so he will not look for you. I survived Fen’Harel’s prison; I can keep the Emperor occupied for five months. Hide. Go to Haven with the baby when year is up and the spell will take you home.”  
“No!” she shook her head, tears filling her eyes. She could already heard the sound of rocks being moved above them. They had magic; the work was progressing very fast  
“If he takes you, all three of us will die for real.” Dirthamen said. “I love you, gaidhalas.”  
His eyes began to glow purple and Roshan started to cry. The stupid lighting jar burned even brighter and the world around her began to twist oddly, like seeing a broken reflection on a mirror. The first rays of morning light were starting to fall through the darkness. Their time was up.  
“Ar lath ma, vhenan.” she tried to say, but she didn’t know if he heard. Because everything around her was suddenly hidden in a shroud of green and scenery flashed through her vision too quickly to see.

 

Roshan found herself kneeling in middle of snow. It felt like she had been forcibly pushed through the Fade, but much further than any Fade step could take a person. And she was alone. When she stood up on shaking knees and looked around, trying uselessly to stop her weeping, there was no sign of anything else living. Only mountains in every direction.

She never should have accepted the damned gift from Dirthamen. She never wanted him to be a hero. That stupid man and his stupid theatrics! Roshan did not want to have dead husband who submitted himself to unspeakable torture and terrible danger to save his wife and unborn child. It was terribly dramatic, tragic and just right to set on a stage of theatre he owned, but it would not do. She would not have it.  
Looking for handkerchief to staunch the flow of tears, she sank the lighting jar in the snow and pushed her hand into pocket of her borrowed robe. Her fingers found something hard. It felt like hope.  
“Thank you.” she whispered as she looked at the communication crystal on her hand. Focusing on the crystal, Roshan started to pour her mana into little device. It lit up with familiar rosy glow, but she heard nothing. Her anger and fear gave her strength, and she would not give up. Twisting the Veil and pulling power from raw Fade, she channelled it all into crystal. The glow deepened and the surface of little gem began to heat up until it hurt her hands. But she held on and finally she heard it.  
“--It’s been seven months without a single word from you, brother, and—“, Falon’Din’s familiar voice yelled. He sounded pissed off. Roshan had never been so grateful to hear him ranting.  
“Falon’Din, it’s me, Roshan. You have to help me. They are going to kill him.”


	15. The prisoner of Tarasyl'an Tel'as

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fen'Harel returns to his rebel army, only to find out that the Emperor has planted a spy in their midst. He does not appreciate (or maybe he appreciates a bit too much) June's work of art.
> 
> Also, Falon'Din can multitask.

“Anything new?” Fen’Harel asked from Felassan as he entered Tarasyl’an Tel’as via eluvian. The rifts in Hinterland were closed, and Justinia V had succeeded in negotiating a peace treaty with mages. Fen’Harel didn’t think it would hold much longer than it would take to deal with rifts threatening the stability of Veil, but that was meaningless. Emperor was true threat, and Inquisition had to keep that in mind. But Divine and Sethius had both always been reasonable allies; they understood that each of three members of Inquisition had his own duties to care for. Fen’Harel had already put aside his duty towards his own People aside for too long to instruct Divine’s prisoner in closing the rifts. His orb was not functional for as long as the dwarf lived, but the Veil was the priority. He could take the anchor back after Breach was closed.  
“We robbed three shipments belonging to Emperor, minimal casualties. He still attempts to use eluvian network to gather resources even though his servants know it’s our turf. It’s fun watching them startle at shadows.” Felassan grinned.  
“You shouldn’t treat the danger they represent so lightly.” Fen’Harel warned.  
“Some men like to laugh at their deaths. I’m one of them.” Felassan shrugged. “Also, there is a woman in your quarters.”  
“What?”  
“You heard me. Our patrol found a pregnant woman wandering in the snow early two days ago. No supplies whatsoever or even proper clothes. She told us that Emperor’s goons had attacked her and her husband. The man sent her to safety and stayed behind.”  
“We haven’t had any news of attacks in the area.” Fen’Harel frowned.  
“Precisely.” Felassan gave him a sharp smile. “She said that her husband was a Dreamer, but we’ve already checked the adjoining areas. There is simply no way a Dreamer mage could have sent her further than from Haven, mortal danger or not. We would have turned her away, but she knew our secret phrase. The one you gave to Mythal’s servants before the whole mess with Emperor began. Also, she’s elvhen. Real elvhen with changed ears, not a shadow descendant. No vallaslin. No weapons or items. Nothing. Mana spent up to exhaustion.”  
“I see.” Fen’Harel said slowly. “Has she tried to snoop around? Speak to anyone?”  
“Nope. She lays in your bed and weeps.”  
“Great. Just what I wanted when I come home after long assignment.” Fen’Harel muttered.  
“It’s my pleasure to serve.” Felassan grinned wolfishly.

 

Dealing with a likely spy was last thing Fen’Harel wanted to do when he climbed up the stairs to his room. Felassan’s choice to isolate the woman from other elvhen had been a shrewd one, because there was nothing to see in Fen’Harel’s bedroom. He kept all his important items in rotunda where he spent most of his day. The room on second floor was too secluded for his taste.

Except now. He pushed the door carefully open, prepared for sudden attack. But nothing happened. Fen’Harel climbed the last stairs, holding his staff in hand. He spied a still form on his bed and tiptoed forwards. The sleeper did not stir. Quietly, Fen’Harel lit up the veilfire torch on the wall to see what he got.

He had been expecting a pile of pillows and attack from behind, but there was a woman instead. She wore a thick velvet robe of foreign cut with silver embroidery on the sleeve cuffs. It was not made for her, Fen’Harel judged from width of shoulders. Her dark red hair was spread on pillow, and there were traces of tears on her face.

That face. Fen’Harel’s breath caught in his throat. He had never seen a woman as beautiful. Her features reminded him of June’s finest works of art. And it wasn’t just her face. The hand clutching the edge of pillow was equally flawless. There were no scars, asymmetries or anything one would expect from a real person. She was too perfect. Fen’Harel shook his head angrily and carefully brushed her still form with his magic. Only faintest bit of mana answered, and her slumber was deep. It was like Felassan had said, he decided. Whatever had happened, she had exhausted her magic and would pose no immediate threat. It was good thing, because Fen’Harel truly needed a bath.

He dropped his clothes on the floor unceremoniously and pulled the bathtub in front of fire. Casting first a water rune, then fire rune for heating, he waited for the tub to fill. His guest did not stir. Idly he wondered if she was faking her exhaustion and gotten more revealing look at rebel leader than was his habit these days, but if she worked for Emperor, she wouldn’t care. Because there was only one function a woman looking like that would fill in Emperor’s court. Her story had been unlikely to begin with, and after Fen’Harel had seen her, it had become downright ridiculous. One would expect a better plot from Emperor than this blatant seduction attempt, but there could be something hidden beneath it.

Easiest way to solve the question of her true mission was to set a trap. Fen’Harel finished his bath and dried himself with a towel. He walked to bed, mentally checking that his wards were on place and the dagger under his mattress was available if needed. Then he slipped between sheets, fully naked, and let himself drift into Fade. If the woman was sent by the Emperor, she would not forfeit the chance so blatantly offered. If not… It was his bed, after all, and she was the trespasser.

 

Waking up was always the worst. Her back was stiff, her head hurt, and she had fought off demons all night. Despair and Fear were drawn to her like beacon while her mind came up with terrible things which might be happening to Dirthamen right now. She had not gained hardly any mana back during the night, having spent it all to empower the crystal to reach Falon’Din, and she felt like she was going to throw up if she even thought of working magic.  
Roshan blinked her eyes wearily. There was something odd with her surroundings. Something familiar, but not from... Something stiff was poking at her ass.  
She turned her head and saw the familiar face of Solas, sans the little scar, right behind her. He was naked from waist up, and probably waist down as well, judging from the poking.  
Roshan flinched like she had been hit with electrocute spell and jumped off the bed, running to bathroom.

She locked the door behind her and fished the communication crystal out from her underpants. Not where she wanted to keep it, but it had proved to be good hiding place since Felassan’s people were not crude enough to peek into pregnant woman’s underpants. Besides, she was never going to tell about this to anyone. Except to Dirthamen, who would just laugh and be proud of her cunning. A stab of pain went through her heart as she opened the crystal.  
“What is it?” Falon’Din asked. “Any news?”  
“There has been a horrible complication.” Roshan said.  
“Why I’m not surprised?” Falon’Din remarked. “You there, stay right where you are.”  
She heard a groan and then some terrible gurgling coming from the other end of the spell.  
“Go on, sister.” Falon’Din urged.  
“I just woke up. _Solas_ was sleeping behind my back, _naked_ , and he had a terrible case of morning wood. I have no idea how he came here, or when. What in the Void I’m going to do?” Roshan hissed into crystal.  
“Didn’t you say there were bare-faced elves in the castle, but their leader was a sarcastic Dalish elf marked for Ghilan’nain?”  
“Yes! His name was Felassan. Violet-coloured eyes, sarcastic, cracks jokes all the time. What is Solas doing here all the sudden?”  
Falon’Din started to laugh.  
“Oh, the Slow Arrow. Now I get it. You there, slave, stop running from your Creator.”  
A crackling sound came through the crystal and then someone started to scream. The screams were cut short.  
“What are you doing there?” Roshan asked even though she didn’t want to know.  
“Fuelling a spell to get there and save my brother.” Falon’Din replied. “They think they can run because I’m speaking with you, but I can double-task.”  
Knowing Falon’Din, it was blood magic. But getting here would take enormous amount of power, and she could not tell him not to do it. Roshan blinked tears away, feeling like a horrible person.  
“Stop crying about it. They’re mostly cultists.” Falon’Din ordered. “As for your Fen’Harel problem, it’s obvious. Felassan was his right-hand man during his rebellion. You stumbled upon rebel headquarters. I can’t believe you didn’t recognize your own fortress.”  
“This does not look like Skyhold I remember. Not at all.” Roshan defended herself, feeling like an idiot. “All done up with fancy spheres and trees and… The tower is made of crystal.”  
“Standard Elvhenan architecture, dear sister. But we can use this. Fen’Harel is probably rebelling against the Emperor, and knows all kinds of useful information about the bastard. Get back to bed, worm your way into his good graces and find out everything you can about the Emperor.”  
Another bout of gurgling made Roshan feel ill.  
“I need to move on with the spell, but one final thing, Roshie. Shut down that conscience of yours. If Dirthamen dies, it doesn’t matter if Fen’Harel has poked your ass or not. But if poking gets you the information we need to save him, you can always apologize to Dirth afterwards.” Falon’Din advised and hung up.

Even though Falon’Din’s advice was shrewd, Roshan couldn’t make herself do it. Sneaking into bed with a naked man who wasn’t Dirthamen was the last thing on her mind right now. She went to balcony instead and looked across the snowy mountains.  
Why couldn’t she be more like Andruil? She should not have listened his arguments. Yes, the baby was important and she could call him back if he died, just like Well of Sorrows had done to her, but a smart choice didn’t mean it was right. Andruil would never have listened to any of it. She would never have left her love behind. Andruil would have shot an arrow through Emperor’s black eye, and laughed at his face while doing it. But Roshan didn’t even have a bow. She had been caught red-handed, weaponless.

Had Dirthamen been captured? Was he hurt? What was the Emperor going to do to him? Not knowing was horrible, because her mind kept jumping from one unspeakable thing from another, largely based on her own experiences. Roshan knew very well that death wasn’t the worst part, but what came before that. What if the Emperor had taken a leaf from Sylaise’s book? Cut away a piece of his eye, like Sylaise had done to her? It had hurt so badly, and she couldn’t bear thinking it might be happening to Dirthamen right now. He had beautiful eyes, unlike the damned Emperor. If the Emperor had any of Falon’Din’s vanity –  
Roshan tried not to start crying again but failed miserably. She burst into tears, and didn’t even notice when the balcony door opened.

 

Maybe there was some truth in Felassan’s story. Fen’Harel doubted that any woman set on seducing a rebel leader would sneak into balcony to cry after waking up next to naked man. As seduction went, she was doing a botched job. He felt a prick on his conscience as he watched her through the glass doors of the balcony. She was on her knees on the stone floor, crying like her heart had been broken. Her anguish was real; he could feel the spirits of Despair and Fear pressing against Veil.

Snatching a dressing gown from a chair, Fen’Harel tied it around his waist and pushed the door open.  
“Are you all right?” he asked in elvish.  
The woman looked up. Her blue eyes were rimmed with red. There was recognition in her gaze, something weary and almost ironic.  
“Solas.”, she said.  
He tasted ash in his mouth. Nobody had called him that for thousands of years. Not after his mother died.  
“How do you know that name? Did the Emperor tell you?” he demanded, feeling his temper flaring.  
“No. Solas is what I called you in my world.” she said.

“Let go of me!” she screamed, fighting against him as he dragged her towards the high-backed chair. Fen’Harel dodged the kick aimed towards his groin – she couldn’t get her leg rise high enough, thanks to bump under her robes – and cried out when she bit his hand so hard it started to bleed.  
“Fenedhis! Felassan, get up here!” he shouted.  
The woman seized the moment’s distraction and used it to pull power through the Veil. An invisible fist slammed Fen’Harel on the ground, and she teetered, looking almost greenish. Fen’Harel felt the change in the Veil as she tried to siphon mana from him, but he retaliated with a spell of his own, cutting her connection to Fade momentarily. She fell on her knees and threw up on his carpet.

\--

“Tie her up.”, Felassan commanded.  
Fen’Harel’s bedroom was full of elves, now. They stood in a half-circle around the woman sitting in high-backed chair. She looked like death warmed over, still swaying a bit even she leaned against the back of the chair, eyes closed. At least she was too ill from mana depletion to offer any resistance, Fen’Harel thought, as one of the soldiers tied her hands together with hemp rope. He had hit his head against the bed as she cast her little surprise, and now there was a bump on his skull about a size of an egg. It ached, making him cranky.  
“Summon the spirit. I want to get the interrogation over and done with as soon as possible.” he commanded his men.  
Her eyes opened a fraction.  
“If you think I allow you to harm my—“, she whispered so weakly Fen’Harel barely heard her.  
“You attacked me in my own bedroom.” he interrupted her.  
“You grabbed me first.” she pointed out. “If unfamiliar man comes to grab me and starts to drag me somewhere without an explanation, of course I’m going to defend myself. Especially after I woke up you poking me.”  
Felassan snickered. Fen’Harel was not amused.  
“I assure you, your virtue was never in danger by me.”, he stated.  
“Why you were sleeping naked, then?” she opened her eyes fully, looking annoyed. “I don’t allow naked men into my bed. With the exception of my husband, of course. But he has manners. Unlike everyone else in this blasted world, it seems.”  
“It was my bed.” Fen’Harel rebuked. “This is my fortress, and you are a guest.”  
“A prisoner.” she lifted her tied hands, glaring at him.  
She truly was unnaturally beautiful, even in her rage. Especially in her rage, little voice whispered in Fen’Harel’s mind. He wondered what she would look like in a fit of passion, and promptly squashed the thought. He was not some low-minded tyrant. Not like the Emperor.  
“It’s here.” Felassan interrupted Fen’Harel’s brooding. Fen’Harel turned to see a dark spirit hovering next to his old friend. Its form was sharp like a sculpture made from crystal.  
“Greetings to you, Truth.” he said respectfully, bowing to iridescent figure. “Thank you for answering our summons. We need your assistance.”

Fen’Harel felt slightly ill for doing this to a pregnant woman, but he had responsibility for every elf in Tarasyl’an Tel’as; he could not afford to have a spy in their midst. It was possible that her mind had broken in whatever Emperor had done to her, or maybe her strange story was only meant to distract them while Emperor’s true plan progressed in the shadows.  
“You have two options.” he addressed the woman. “Either you allow Truth to possess you voluntarily so we can ask questions or it will happen by force. I can’t guarantee the wellbeing of your child if you choose the latter.”  
“What kind of fool do you think I am? You are trying to frighten me to play nice! A possession is a possession, no matter how it’s done, and soul cannot be forced upon unwilling. If you try to possess me by force, you’ll only get an abomination, and it will not answer any of your questions.” she replied heatedly. “My mind is my own, and not a gold mine for you to dig for gems.”  
Fen’Harel flinched.  
“Surprised, are you? You thought I was dumb just because I happen to have a pretty face.” she spat. “I will not exchange one form of slavery to another.”  
“I give you my word that I will not look for more than it’s necessary for answer the questions.” Truth said. “I will not stay, or harm you or your child in any way.”  
She looked around her, noting the armed warriors around her.  
“If I do not agree, are they going to kill me?” she asked from a spirit.  
“Yes.”, Truth answered simply.  
The woman’s defiance crumbled, and she hang her head down for a moment.  
“If I let you do this, you must promise you will not speak of anything not belonging to me.”, she said.  
Fen’Harel opened his mouth to disagree, because it would only complicate the interrogation, but before he could react, Truth spoke:  
“It is agreed.”

She let out a terrified sob when the Truth melted into her, and her body shook in her bindings. A mage monitoring her life signs did not sign an alert, so Fen’Harel stood on his ground, waiting. A moment later, the woman lifted her head up, with eyes shining the eerie green of the Fade.  
“What is your name?” Fen’Harel began the questioning.  
“Roshan. Of Clan Lavellan, I think.” she replied.  
“You think?” Felassan repeated.  
“My clan died four years ago. And I don’t know if my new family has a last name. I never asked from my father-in-law.”  
“Do you work for the Emperor? Has he influenced you in any way? A spell? An order? ”, Fen’Harel asked, not willing to be distracted.  
“No.”, the answer was simple and firm. “I’m going to kill the Emperor and save my husband.”  
“Is it true that the Emperor attacked you?” Felassan continued.  
“They came through the roof when it was still dark in the morning. A man with black eyes and shepherd’s crook told his warriors to seize my husband. He crashed the ceiling on us, to buy enough time to send me away.” woman’s voice broke. “Oh, vhenan. You should not have done it.”  
The healer mage holding her hand on Roshan’s neck, feeling her pulse, lifted up two fingers. The possession could not run for much longer. He had two questions left, and Fen’Harel decided to make most of them.  
“What did you meant when you said you called me Solas in your world?”  
“I knew a man like you in my own world, but he is dead now. He told me to call him Solas. It was his name. He only became Fen’Harel later.”  
“Your own world? Is this not your own world?” Fen’Harel demanded.  
“We were on the run. My former patron wanted to take my baby for her vessel, and I couldn’t bear it. I begged Dirthamen to do something, and he stole Andruil’s arrow to pierce the Beyond between worlds. We came here to hide, but it didn’t work out.”  
“Dirthamen?” Fen’Harel felt the blood in his veins turning as cold as ice.  
“Do you have any news of him? I fear for him so badly.” her voice was barely more than a whisper. She was becoming paler, and the magic around her cracked.  
“I have to cut it off, now.” the healer said. “She can’t hold on any longer.”  
“Wait!” Fen’Harel cried out. “I need one more question.”  
“No more questions.” the healer shook her head and began the banishment spell.  
“Dirthamen, as the Keeper of Secrets? Keeper of Secrets brought you to this world?” Fen’Harel spoke fast.  
“He is my vhenan. My husband.” the woman whispered. Her head fell forwards and the healer let out a curse. The prisoner hung limply against the ropes, fainted.

The silence in the room broke in a nervous chatter. The elves were talking over each other, too shocked to listen what others had to say. Fen’Harel felt unreal as he watched the Truth leave the prisoner.  
“I never thought... But Falon’Din’s reflection was always the crafty one.” Felassan said grimly. “Before the Emperor got one over on him.”


	16. The prisoner of Golden City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roshan attempts to recruit Fen'Harel for her war against the Emperor.

Dirthamen had interrogated enough people in his day to know what the feast spread in front of him meant.

The secret of learning the mind of one’s enemy started with little things. What they liked to eat for breakfast. Would they choose fruit instead of bread, a roasted bird over sweet cakes? One time could be just an accident. Repeat until a pattern rises. Use the pattern to manipulate larger fabric. How many little pushes, smallest accidents, a person could dismiss until his mood turned foul, leading him to make mistakes out of temper? Or would a carefully chosen mix of endearing things lead him other way? A successful manipulation just didn’t work like a Tethras novel, where a soft-spoken character in black cloth whispered words of advice into Viscount’s ear.

The sheer array of choices in front of him hinted that Emperor was aiming for a longer game. And Dirthamen was ready to play along.

The metal belt around his hips chafed under his clothes as he reached for yoghurt. He chose that and filled another small bowl with scrambled eggs. The Emperor sitting opposite him watched with black eyes as Dirthamen began to eat.  
“Soft foods?” the Emperor asked interestedly.  
For an answer, Dirthamen put down his spoon down on a table and opened his mouth. He took hold on his tooth and yanked a bit. With a flippant gesture, he threw the tooth in front of the Emperor. It landed on a white tablecloth, leaving a small stain of spit and blood.  
“The skill of your healers.” Dirthamen said, feeling the empty hole with his tongue. “Is inadequate.”  
The Emperor smiled. The smile started from the corners of his eyes, continuing downwards, and it felt like watching a mirror.  
“You could have fought less.”  
Dirthamen was too much a son of Elgar’nan to bow gracefully, and too much a son of Mythal to let his enemy see the anger and humiliation bubbling under surface. The defeat, as necessary as it had been, chafed worse than the hateful belt.  
He poured sugar and milk into his tea and said nothing.

\--

 

“Do you feel the baby moving normally?” the healer asked from her. “Have you felt any pains?”  
“I’m more stiff than hurt.” Roshan said quietly, hugging her knees as she sat on the bed.  
“It should be fine, then. But you were out for five days, bordering uthenera. I recommend you telling Fen’Harel whatever he needs to know, freely.” the older woman said harshly. “Possession messes up things, especially with Dreamer baby like yours. A new spirit building his body does not need another suddenly taking over his domain. If things go south, miscarriage is the lucky option. Woman giving birth to a living abomination is something I never want to see again, and I’ve seen my share of bad births.”  
The healer mage looked at Roshan and then dug into her belt pouch, giving her handful a dried elfroot leaves. She accepted the offering. Chewing elfroot strengthened the womb, Keeper Deshanna had taught, and this one thing seemed to be consistent on both worlds.  
“I had a girl like you once. Pretty girl, who caught an eye of influential noble. I can’t fault you for watching out for your babe. It’s far easier life to be a favoured concubine of an Evanuris, lacking for nothing, than hear your little one weep because she’s hungry. But not everyone here understands that. I’d pay care if I were you. Check your food before you eat it, and be on your guard.”

 

“Fen’Harel.” Felassan pushed open the door to war room. Fen’Harel was there with his generals, planning their next attack against the Emperor.  
“What is it?” Fen’Harel looked up from his map.  
“A message from Divine Justinia. Sethius Amladaris is dead, along with other disciples of Dumat. A surprise attack by the Eternal Empire eight days ago.” Felassan held a tiny parchment of paper in his hand.  
Fen’Harel accepted the scrap of paper.  
“So we are not going to reply to Dorian Pavus’ request to speak with God of Silence after all.” he said, closing his fingers around a miniature placed in northern Orlais. He lifted it up, thinking, and then promptly placed the carved dragon to Tarasyl’an Tel’as.  
“It fits, doesn’t it?” Felassan noted with a sarcastic smile. “Our late guest arrived just in time.”  
“I think I need to have a word with her. Have the prisoner brought up to my rooms for supper.” Fen’Harel requested.

When the Dread Wolf left the war room, he was still deep in thought. Felassan should send for Dorian Pavus. When Fen’Harel had met the man, he had said something about Dumat not being a nice person, and how the dragon ate peeled grapes by the day and spent the night ravishing innocent maidens. To Fen’Harel’s ear, it sounded just like an Evanuris. And his prisoner filled all the requirements. The poor thing was in love with her Evanuris master. It was not uncommon affliction among those who Fen’Harel had freed; the emotions of former slaves were often a mix of undeserved love and false loyalty even among those who wanted to be free. Dirthamen, as Fen’Harel remembered him, would have played the woman like a lyre. But for what purpose - that was the question Fen’Harel wished to have answer for.

She arrived not soon after, escorted by Felassan and two guards. Roshan took one glance at the table set for two and arched her brows.  
“I’ve heard of this. A common trope, where the hero must dine with a villain. Dirthamen said it was very useful to play if he needed to convince someone to do what he wanted.”  
Fen’Harel did not appreciate Felassan’s snicker, but he decided to ignore it. Nodding them to withdraw, Fen'Harel turned his attention to his prisoner.  
“So, which one your master thought he was? A hero or a villain?” he asked as he poured some wine. It was stolen from Emperor’s personal wine yard; it had been a fine day when they had acquired a shipment of Fade-touched grapes. Even if Fen’Harel no longer counted himself among Evanuris, he had not lost his ability to taste when he denied his godhood.  
“Whichever suited his purpose at the moment.” Roshan said as she took her seat. “But it was before my time.”  
Fen’Harel watched as she started to cut the meat, handing the heavy silverware with practiced movements. She had been clearly trained in courtly manners, even if there were some differences. But it made sense. A pleasure slave, no matter how beautiful, would not earn a lasting attention of an Evanuris if her behaviour was gross.  
“I thought we could play a game. Answer for an answer.” Fen’Harel began.  
“If you wish. But I would prefer not to spend my time playing games.” Roshan said, looking straight at him. “I need to find a way to kill the Emperor less than five months. Or if I can’t kill him, steal my husband back. I don’t want to return home without him.”  
So, she preferred direct approach. Uncommon, but it made things much easier.  
“Why would I help you?” Fen’Harel asked, crossing his fingers.  
“Why would you not? I know practically nothing of your world, your organisation or your headquarters. I spent two days locked in this room, and then six days being sick in another locked room. There is nothing useful Emperor could get from me if I fail. But if I succeed, he is dead and your problem is gone.” Roshan said calmly.  
“But how would you kill him?” Fen’Harel requested.  
“I have an idea which might work. But I need to know more about him, first. How did the Emperor become Emperor?” she asked.  
There was no harm in answering. It was a common story, after all, and retelling it did not endanger his People.  
“There was a time when Friend of the Dead grew hungry for power. He wanted more worshippers, more power, and he filled lakes with blood of those who would not bow. Only after he turned his gaze upon Mythal’s people the rest of Evanuris understood they had to do something.”  
“Mythal rallied the gods. Joined together, they bloodied Falon’Din in his own temple.” Roshan concluded.  
Fen’Harel looked at her, shaking his head.  
“No. It didn’t happen like that. Dirthamen did not agree to Mythal’s plan, saying he could not betray his brother. He went to Falon’Din’s temple alone, trying to parlay with him. Falon’Din welcomed him with open arms and then struck him down.”  
There was genuine upset on Roshan’s face Fen’Harel noticed. But he went on:  
“It was said that what Falon’Din did was a blood magic rite, meant to harvest the spirit of a dying man. I think it is true. Because he changed. He stole his missing half back, becoming one being, with virtues and vices of both men. He had been formidable before, but now there was no stopping him. He slayed Mythal first and moved to Elgar’nan next. My remaining brethren called upon their faithful, the People and shemlen alike, but they all fell in the fight against him, one by one. I created the Veil in attempt to save what could be saved, to keep him imprisoned in the Fade while we are stalled in waking world.”  
“It did not happen thus in my world.” she said quietly.  
“What is your world like?” Fen’Harel asked, overcome with curiosity for a moment.  
“The Veil came down two years ago. When we left, some parts of the world were still burning. Great many people were lost when chaos struck. Practically all my dwarven friends, and most of the humans, too. I still don’t know what happened to them.” Roshan said, pouring water for herself.  
Fen’Harel made a non-committal noise, waiting her to continue.  
“I still don’t know whether I prefer world like it is now, or will I always miss the one I was born into. The ease of magic is astonishing, but the price was so high. But I promised myself I will not judge before giving it fair chance. Before the Veil fell, I made some choices I might regret”, the corners of her mouth curved in ironic smile “but fixing them might just make it worse.”  
“You said you were born under the Veil? But your spirit, your ears… You are one of the elvhen.” Fen’Harel remarked, leaning a bit towards her.  
Suddenly she flinched. He frowned. The question had been seemingly innocent, not enough to cause a reaction like that. Unless there was something she was not willing to tell.  
“It’s a very complicated story.” she said, shifting herself on the chair. “I will tell it to you later, but I need you to answer to my question, first. Are you willing to assist me to kill the Emperor? I don’t ask you to endanger yourself or your people. But I need information, like the story you just told me.”  
“I understand you feel a sense of loyalty towards your master.” Fen’Harel chose his words carefully. “And Emperor is a threat to us all, but—“  
She moved her hips again, looking very uncomfortable.  
“Do you understand that if he has my husband, he is likely going to eat his soul as well?” Roshan’s eyes captured his. “Do you truly want to fight the Emperor who is three times stronger than he originally was?”  
“Of course not! But I cannot justify spending resources for an operation which is doomed to fail. You are pregnant and recovering from mana depletion. Even though you are skilled manipulating the Veil, you aren’t even a Dreamer mage. Honestly, I can’t see how you could ever succeed killing him, no matter how noble your intentions.” Fen’Harel decided it was time to be frank.  
“So you only decline because you don’t believe I can do it?” she asked, shifting her body forwards.  
“Yes.”, Fen’Harel stated.  
“All right.” Roshan muttered. “Here goes nothing.”

Suddenly, she pulled the hem of her robe up until Fen’Harel spied a glimpse of bare thigh on other side of the table. Slipping her slender fingers in her underpants – Fen’Harel felt uncomfortable tinge of excitement in his groin – she fished out a small, rose-coloured crystal. It was pulsing with light. He knew the design; it was commonly used for communicating over long distances.  
“May I answer?” Roshan asked.  
Fen’Harel concentrated on the crystal, studying it with his magic. There was nothing harmful in it; it was exactly as it seemed, and he was curious. Making mental note of telling his people to check prisoners’ underwear from now on, he opened the palm of his hand in agreeable gesture.  
Roshan twisted the lock joining crystal to chain, and the pulsing colour changed to deep rose.  
“Greetings, daughter.” a male voice spoke. “How are you? How is my grandson?”  
Fen’Harel’s mouth dropped open. He remembered that voice. The rich timbre of it was familiar, even though the accent was a bit different. Elgar’nan of her world would sound different.  
“As well as we can be in these circumstances, father. I am just dining with Fen’Harel, who has imprisoned me at the moment. He just told me that he is not willing to help me to save Dirthamen because he doesn’t believe I can kill the Emperor.” Roshan said, leaning back in her chair.  
An amused chuckle echoed in the room.  
“Still a prisoner of your ideals, are you not, Wolf?” Elgar’nan asked. “If you are anything like our Wolf was, you are unlikely to believe me. But you would believe your mistress. I’m going to give this to Mythal. But daughter?”  
“Yes?”  
“As soon as this matter is dealt with, you two will get back home immediately. There are things we need to talk about. Like this wedding Falon’Din says you had there, even though Dirthamen promised I can throw it. Or the fact that you and my son ran into parallel world and got yourself into trouble, endangering yourselves and my grandson. I’m _not_ happy with either of you.” Elgar’nan’s voice dropped dangerously.  
Fen’Harel felt surreal. Elgar’nan was nagging to his son’s concubine about eloping. Their wold was stranger than he thought.  
“I know, father.” Roshan sighed. “But to be honest, us coming here was Mythal’s fault.”  
“So ready to fling blame around, aren’t you, girl?” another voice echoed in the room. Fen’Harel felt like he was going to drown. His mouth was suddenly dry and he reached for his wine glass without thinking.  
“You were the one who made the deal to steal my baby.” Roshan replied sharply. Her eyes were hard and there was no longer warmth in her voice.  
“That is a discussion best left to later date. Lives are spent to fuel this connection as we speak.” Mythal’s familiar cadences were sharp. “Solas. Are you still there?”  
“Yes.” Fen’Harel felt like he wanted to weep. This was not his Mythal, and he knew it, but to hear her again…  
“My daughter-in-law is uniquely suited for trapping the Emperor and killing her. She was my servant before recent developments, and her task was to infiltrate and endear herself to Evanuris of this world under my commands. She performed admirably until my son stole her.”  
“Dirthamen did not steal me.”, Roshan cut in. “I freed myself from slavery.”  
Mythal ignored her.  
“In our world, she has already killed two god-like beings, including one Evanuris. Properly armed, I do not doubt she will slay your Emperor, as well. It’s not like you can afford to lose, girl.”  
Roshan’s mouth was a thin line, and she looked furious.  
“As weapons go, do you still have the lighting I gave you?” Elgar’nan asked.  
“I do.”, Roshan admitted.  
Fen’Harel wanted to know what the hell was wrong with his prison guards. One did not let prisoners keep things like God of Vengeance’s special weapon.  
“Good. I have sent specific instructions on how to fuel it. It’s already aimed, so you have to dispatch everybody else in alternative ways, but it should work on the Emperor. Serves him right for cannibalizing my boy.” Elgar’nan’s voice dropped again.  
“Solas. There are few things I want to say to you in private.” Mythal spoke. Wordlessly, Fen’Harel grabbed the crystal from table and strode into bathroom, locking the door after him.

Roshan stayed behind, nibbling her food even though she had no appetite. She sincerely hoped this would work out, because she had staked too much on a theory of Fen’Harel acting like Solas she had known. If Fen’Harel would not comply, but decided to work against her…  
A knock on the balcony door drew her attention. She stood up, seeing a shadow on other side of the glass. There was another knock, more demanding this time, and Roshan walked to the door. The shadow was tall, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. A foolish hope stirred in her heart against reason when she pulled the door open.  
“Maker’s breath, sister. You’ve grown fat.” Falon’Din said in familiar, insulting manner. There were snowflakes in his hair, and he was dressed inadequately for the weather, favouring the ridiculous Tevinter fashion with only one sleeve. But his stupid, vainglorious grin was familiar and he had arrived to help her save Dirthamen, despite the mortal danger Emperor posed to him. Roshan’s lips began to tremble and she flung herself into his arms.  
“Stop weeping. I didn’t mean it that way.” Falon’Din said uncomfortably as he held her. “It was just a joke.”  
“I know.” she sobbed. “But I’m so happy to see you.”  
Falon’Din sighed.  
“This is why I don’t breed.” he said in a long-suffering voice. “We need to get Dirth back. He can deal with your moods.”  
He patted her back clumsily as snow fell around them, turning Fen’Harel’s balcony white against the falling darkness.


	17. Agent of Evanuris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The newfound alliance between Fen'Harel rebel forces and Agent of Evanuris goes on the rocks.

Roshan had just finished explaining where she had hidden the lighting jar in mountains around Skyhold when they heard bathroom door opening inside Fen’Harel’s suite.   
“Go!” she urged Falon’Din, who didn’t waste any time. Taking a shape of an owl, he disappeared into night sky. Roshan looked forlornly after him. One of these days, she would take up studying different shapes. Quickly, she moved stand over Falon’Din’s footprints, sweeping with her foot to obscure them. The snow chilled her bare feet. The distraction Mythal and Elgar’nan had arranged had been timely, but she did not yet know if her gamble had gained anything.   
The balcony door opened and Fen’Harel peeked out.   
“What are you doing here?” he asked shrewdly.   
“I was feeling queasy again and you were hogging the bathroom. I didn’t want to vomit on your carpet like the last time.” Roshan replied.   
She could tell that he didn’t believe her, but Fen’Harel simply took a step backwards, holding the door open to her. Roshan walked back into captivity.

“I have made up my mind.” he informed her as they sat down again. “I will assist you to getting into Golden City and provide information on the Emperor. Once you get there, however, you will be on your own.”  
“Why?” she asked, watching him carefully.   
“You said it yourself. If you succeed, I win, too. As Mythal said, it’s not like you can afford to lose. I doubt the Evanuris will welcome you home without Dirthamen.” Fen’Harel said, impaling peas with his fork.  
Roshan knew he was not telling the whole truth. It was written all over his face.   
“Lies only by omission, Solas?” she asked with more sharpness than was necessary, but seeing this happen all over again hurt.   
“I’d be pleased to know why my guards did not confiscate the crystal or lighting your Elgar’nan mentioned. I have to admit I wonder how many other things you keep hidden.” Fen’Harel said, watching her with appraising eye. “The first session with Truth was clearly not sufficient.”  
She felt cold fingers running all over her spine, but Roshan fought to keep her voice neutral.   
“Your healer said possession was dangerous for my baby. I will not allow you to endanger her with your questioning. You could turn my child into an abomination.” she stated, wrapping her fingers around the silver-plated dinner knife.   
“If you were truly worried about wellbeing of your child, you would not ask me smuggle you to Golden City so you could assassinate the Emperor.” Fen’Harel met her gaze steadily. “I have seen your like before. You are nothing but a tool in your master’s hand, and you keep acting like a weapon even though nobody holds you now. It is common among freed slaves. If the father of your child truly loved you, which option you think he would choose? You walking Din’Anshiral or safety I could offer? You could have a future for yourself and your child. Here, away from the Evanuris.”  
“I know.” Roshan said. “That was what he told me to do when he sent me away. But I disagreed with him then, and I still disagree with him now. He could survive death, but I don’t know if he can survive what happens before it. In my experience, death is easy. But last hours are the ones which scar you.”  
A ghost of smile warmed his eyes.   
“I can see why Mythal chose you. You and she are more similar than you know.”  
She scowled at his stupid remark, and Fen’Harel laughed.   
“She said that you would not appreciate the parable.”  
“I think I’ve eaten enough. I’d like to return to my room.” Roshan said. She was miffed.   
“Unfortunately I cannot allow that.” Fen’Harel replied coolly. The warmth was gone, and his face was aloof mask of a leader. “You are an agent of Evanuris, and I already caught you keeping secrets. We might have common goal, but I do not trust you enough to allow you any privacy. As far as I know, you could be hiding Elgar’nan’s lighting in your underpants, too.”  
“That is a ridiculous accusation.”  
“Is it?” he asked, putting the cutlery down on his plate. “I don’t think so.”  
Fen’Harel pushed his chair backwards, looking at the food served on the table. His gaze stopped at a small bowl of olive oil set next to bread basket. Reaching over his plate, he dipped two of his fingers into oil and stood up. His hand glistened in lamplight.   
“Take off your clothes, please.” he said in even tone. “There is no need for this to be more uncomfortable for either of us than is absolutely necessary. I simply must be certain you do not hold more magic items or other surprises my guards might have overlooked in their prudity.”  
“Fenedhis lasa.” Roshan cursed as she understood his intention.  
“It’s either me or me and as many guards holding you as required. I thought you might appreciate keeping this as private as possible.” Fen’Harel replied flatly.   
She met his gaze with cold pride. Her blue eyes were icy enough to burn a man through.   
“You are correct in that.” she said. “In the bathroom? I do not wish your servants to walk in.”  
Fen’Harel nodded and followed her, taking the small dish of oil with him. A moment later, the lock on the door clicked shut.

\--

She did not answer to Dirthamen’s communication crystal, so after two days of silence, Falon’Din decided to approach Roshan in the Fade. The moment he stepped into her dream, he knew something had happened. She dreamed of a battlefield filled with corpses tainted with red lyrium. Roshan was dressed in her old armor from the time she had served as the figurehead of his army, and rage was blazing off her in waves. Roshan spun, holding a staff in her hands, and kicked feet from under Fen’Harel. The Wolf fell, and Roshan slammed the staff blade through his chest.   
“That bad, eh?” Falon’Din asked.  
“I don’t want to talk about it.”, she replied in clipped tones as Wolf’s corpse vanished.   
“Suits me.”, Falon’Din shrugged. “I tried to contact you, but you didn’t answer.”  
“I no longer have the crystal.” Roshan said spitefully. “He feels it’s a threat to security. Because I’m Evanuris agent.”  
“Think positively. At least he is no longer poking you with his dick. It would be beneath him to poke Evanuris agent.” Falon’Din pointed out lightly.   
Roshan rolled her eyes.   
“You are horrible person.” she said, slipping her hand on the crook of his arm. “Did you find Elgar’nan’s lighting jar?”  
“Yes. I have it, but there is a catch. As you know, father’s magic isn’t exactly subtle. It feeds on strength of emotion. In this particular case, lightning is only as strong as your resentment, anger and all negative feelings towards my brother. Or the Emperor, since father assured it should work on him too.”  
Falon’Din snapped his fingers, changing the Fade to reflect his command tent from Halamshiral war.   
“I suggest we proceed like this. You find your way to Golden City and as close to Emperor as you can manage. Get angry. Find Dirthamen, if possible, but the Emperor is priority. You have to be in same room with the prick for the lighting to work, and Dirthamen must not be there. We don’t want to fry him by accident. When you deem the moment is right, call me, and I’ll come with the jar. Then we’ll kill him, get Dirthamen and let the Wolf start a war against the remains of Eternal Empire.”  
“Sounds like a plan.” Roshan nodded as they looked on the map. “But you need to lay low. I don’t know how the Emperor found about Dirthamen, but I think it was the moment Dirthamen shapeshifted into a dragon in Haven. We got into trouble with dwarves as soon as we left the woods.”  
“I can take care of myself.”  
“So could he.” Roshan reminded sadly.  
Falon’Din nodded wordlessly, and they were quiet for a moment.   
“About that.” he said. “I’m preparing a scrying spell to check on Dirthamen. We need to be certain where he is held and what’s happening to him if we are going to break him out. It won’t be much more than a glimpse because I have to be certain the Imperial Bastard or Wolf won’t notice anything. I could extend the spell to you if you wish. It won’t be easy to watch, but...”  
“Thank you, Falon’Din.” she whispered, feeling grateful.   
“I need some blood from you for the spell.”  
“How much?”  
“A small cup or thoroughly wet handkerchief should be enough. I can arrange collecting it if we agree on pick up point.”  
“Fen’Harel’s bathroom window, tomorrow evening at dusk? There aren’t any conventionally sharp objects available unless it’s mealtime, and if I purposefully stab myself with halla statue Fen’Harel keeps on mantel, he is bound to suspect something. Don’t come as yourself, and don’t be an owl. It’s Emperor’s favoured form and the rebel archers like to shoot them.”  
“Stop fretting so much. If push comes to shove, you can always distract Fen’Harel with your feminine charms and smooch him long enough for me to escape. I imagine he wouldn’t be much opposed, considering the poking. “, Falon’Din flashed an irritating smile.   
“I forever regret mentioning it to you.” Roshan groaned. “Besides, smooching anyone is the last thing in my mind right now. I’m more concerned I might accidentally die simply because I laid on my back and suffocated under the weight of my stomach.”  
“It shouldn’t be problem.” Falon’Din said airily. ”You told me in Jader that our Wolf liked doing it doggy style. There might be similarities.”  
“I can’t believe I almost liked you five minutes ago.”

\--

There was something going on with Roshan. Fen’Harel could tell. The spirits of Fear and Despair were pressing against Veil and watching her as she sat in armchair and read intelligence report about Imperial Court. The presence of those spirits was not unusual; they had followed her as long as he had known her. But Fear and Despair were not alone. Tonight he could feel the faint presence of Love and Hope. Hope burned brightest of them all. Spirit of Hope was rarely seen; there was little to attract it in the waking world. He hoped it was an omen; he had made a hard decision today and it sat ill with him.

“I hope to make arrangements to slip you into Golden City next week.” Fen’Harel mentioned as the dinner was brought up. “My agents are reporting dwarf activity near Redcliffe. We will leave you there in the wilderness, and it is very likely that Emperor’s dwarves pick you up sooner or later.”  
“I have been meaning to ask why dwarves work for the Emperor? In my world, dwarves don’t have magic.” Roshan mentioned.  
“At all?” Fen’Harel was clearly surprised.  
“No.”  
“When I joined the ranks of Evanuris, we were at war against the Titans. The war had just started, and the effort was largely dependent on Dirthamen’s spy network. When Falon’Din rebelled and sacrificed his lover, becoming the Emperor, he negotiated a separate peace with dwarves. They joined forces against the rest of Evanuris, the Emperor got unlimited lyrium supply and the rest is history.” Fen’Harel told her. “I believe that a large part of dwarves’ loyalty is based on the fact that currently the Emperor holds all weapons we developed to use against the dwarves. Blight comes to mind, first. There were some tests run, but Ghilan’nain never had time to release it for wide use.”  
“Blight?” Roshan looked like she had bitten something foul. “You have no idea what you have avoided.”  
“It would be interesting to compare notes on history. After you have killed the Emperor.” Fen’Harel said, attempting to humour her.  
“Redcliffe makes a believable story. We were in the area before heading to Dumat’s shrine.” Roshan nodded. “But how are you going to keep your people hidden from the Emperor? If you are planning to leave me captured by dwarves, what keeps them from using another spirit of Truth to interrogate me?”  
“I have made preparations to avoid that. It will be beneficial to you as well, because you do not want Emperor to think you are an agent of Evanuris. “, Fen’Harel said, trying to choose his words right.   
“It is something I am not going to like, is it?”  
“Well, yes.” Fen’Harel cleared his throat. “But it is necessary.”  
Someone knocked on the door.   
“Come in, Felassan. We are ready.” Fen’Harel stood up.   
Behind him, he heard a sound of glass breaking. When he turned around, Roshan was holding a napkin around her wrist. It was bleeding.   
“You brought the spirit of Truth again.” her voice sounded sick.   
“I understand your fear, but I assure you; I would not do it if there were any other way.” Fen’Harel said, trying to make himself sound reassuring. “A person who is possessed six or seven times within one turn of hourglass develops a hypersensivity reaction of sorts. It practically means a person’s own soul starts to rebel against possession very violently. After the reaction is there, it is impossible to use Truth or any other spirit to possess that person.”  
“What does “very violently” mean?” Roshan asked. She was retreating towards the corner of the room. Not the balcony facing yard, but the other balcony, facing the mountains.   
“That there is no use to try to interrogate person by spirit possession, because it will likely kill her.”, Fen’Harel replied. “Like I said, I support your cause on theory and your... associates believe you are up to the task, but I must think of my People. I cannot afford to let you go. You have been to my fortress, even though briefly. You know me, and you have seen Felassan. You have seen several of my soldiers during your interrogation. And most of all, I’ve understood you knew me well in another world. You have travelled here from another world, even though it is impossible. For the sake of my world and yours, I cannot let the Emperor know any of it.”   
“And you would let my baby turn into abomination because of it?” Roshan asked.  
“I wouldn’t turn your baby into abomination.” Fen’Harel resisted. “I never said that! I simply said that this must be done, even though the consequences could possibly be tragic to you in personal level. If your baby became damaged, we would arrange for a healer to solve the problem, and let you stay long enough to recover.”  
“And to be honest, that family should not breed.” Felassan added with air of finality.  
Roshan’s back hit the wall.   
“I understand.” she said huskily, glancing towards the window. Sun was setting.   
“You do?” Fen’Harel had not prepared for this.  
“I do. And like you once told me, Solas, in another world.”  
She turned quickly and pushed the balcony doors open, stepping through the Fade.   
“Stop her!” Fen’Harel yelled, reaching for the Veil. But Roshan was already standing on the railing, still holding that bloody handkerchief.   
“Please help me!” she screamed and jumped over the railing just as Felassan’s paralyzing spell hit the balcony floor.   


Fen’Harel, Felassan and the rest of rebel soldiers crowded at the door, but when Fen’Harel bent to look over the railing, there was no sign of a body.   
“She might have fallen in a gorge under snow.” Felassan stared at the emptiness below. “Or we will find her body by morning. It’s too dark to start searching now.”  
“Or she might have had help, and not fallen at all.” Fen’Harel said grimly. “She shouted help first, and jumped right after it. It is not only thing which doesn’t quite add up. I don’t think that Mythal and Elgar’nan would count on their pregnant daughter-in-law to bring back their son without any help? She told Elgar’nan that I held her imprisoned, and he just ignored it. Right after he had asked about how his grandson was doing. Now I think of it, it made no sense.”  
The balcony was quiet for a moment.   
“So you think there might be more of them?” Felassan asked.  
“There might be more agents of Evanuris out there, yes.”  
“We are fucked.” Felassan said.


	18. Twenty thousand sovereigns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Falon'Din comes up with great plan to get Roshan into Golden City.

Friend of the Dead walked past the Veil, carrying a body in his arms. The shifting grey paths of Beyond twisted and turned treacherously, ever changing, but the Guide navigated them with unwavering confidence of one who knew what he was doing. Finally he reached his destination, a quiet place where souls of the dead could be laid to rest.  
“Wake up!” he poked at the burden in his arms. “You weight a ton and my arms are getting numb.”  
His brother’s annoying wife opened her sleepy eyes.  
“Can’t I sleep a bit longer?” Roshan asked, trying to snuggle against him.  
“No! And don’t even think of making wet halla-eyes on me. They might work on my brother, but I’m immune. And I’m not falling for ‘but brother, it would be much faster if you carried me’-trick ever again. I think you drooled on my sleeve.” Falon’Din said disgustedly as he put her down.  
“Sorry.”  
“That was not even close to genuine apology. Now will you tell me how the Wolf managed to drive you to attempt suicide? You could have killed yourself, and what then? Dirth would have made me to bring you back, and it would not have been easy. Do you have any idea how many souls are here just floating around? It looks like the Emperor hasn’t done his job for hundreds of years, and he doesn’t even have the excuse of being locked away.”  
“Maybe he can’t.”, Roshan said, looking thoughtful. “I mean... If the Emperor has both of your talents and skills, what about limitations? You can walk through the Fade, but Dirthamen cannot.”  
“It could be so. Or he is just lazy. But don’t try to distract me.”  
“Solas wanted to make me immune to spirit possession so the Emperor couldn’t interrogate me like he did. I didn’t want to risk the baby turning into abomination.” she said, looking resentful.  
“So you decided to risk everyone by jumping off balcony? You used to be smarter than that when you worked for me. Clearly breeding has turned your mind into mush. If we are going to succeed in this, you can’t make another stupid decision like that, Roshie.” Falon’Din scolded.  
“I know.” she said, and to Falon’Din’s horror, it looked like she was going to start crying again. “I’m sorry, Falon’Din. it was a stupid decision.”  
“Just don’t do it again. And don’t start crying. I hate crying people.”  
She nodded, swallowing her tears. Good.  
“Since alliance with Wolf didn’t work out, we need to move quickly. Lucky for you, I have devised a much better way to get you to Golden City and close to Emperor than Fen’Harel’s plan of dropping you to Hinterlands and hoping you’ll be found by chance patrol. It’s great idea.” Falon’Din said.  
She gave him sideways look.  
“Is this like the time you sold me to Sylaise for a loaf of banana bread?” Roshan asked suspiciously.  
“A bit.” Falon’Din allowed, feeling extremely pleased with himself. “Except this time I’m going to sell you to Imperial harem.”  
There were no words to describe the expression on her face.

 

Roshan had never expected her first destination in Golden City to be a fitting room of women’s lingerie shop. Falon’Din had spent three days gleaming a fountain of information from dead souls he’d dissolved, and apparently some of them had patronized this particular establishment.  
“You know Dirthamen is going to kill you when he finds out?” Roshan asked as she tried to wiggle into outfit Falon’Din had just bought. There were several layers and she was still battling with the first one.  
“I’m looking forward to it. The threats he makes when he really gets worked up are pure gold.” Falon’Din grinned through his glamour. “But there is no denying my plan is much faster. Why to rely on dwarves if we can get you straight into palace and under Emperor’s nose?”  
“Hopefully just his nose.” Roshan said grudgingly. She looked at the mirror, feeling increasingly cranky. “This is never going to fit. You misjudged the size.”  
“I never misjudge sizes. It’s supposed to fit tightly. Hold your breath and I’ll tug the hem down. On third?”  
Roshan nodded unhappily, sucked her stomach in – not that it helped – and Falon’Din yanked the hem over her belly.  
“Now, hold your hands up. I’ll dress you. Otherwise this is going to take ages.” Falon’Din ordered. He pulled the second layer over her head without warning, then the third. He knelt down to straighten the black tulle and then stood up again, turning her to face the mirror.  
“I told you it would fit.” he said smugly.  
“It’s a bit flowy.” Roshan said uncertainly. “I expected something different.”  
“Too chaste, you think?” Falon’Din arched his eyebrows.  
“Yes.”  
“The trick is the sash.” he said, tying the lace belt above her bump. “Now, cast a spell and watch the mirror. Just a simple brush of magic will do.”  
Roshan gave Falon’Din a suspicious look and did as he told her. When magic touched her, the fabric of her clothes began to slowly fade, becoming thin enough to allow a glimpse of bare skin below. Then suddenly the enchantment jumped to another spot, starting the slow reveal again. It was tantalizing. A tease.  
Her eyes widened and a blood rushed to her cheeks.  
“I see.” she said.  
Falon’Din nodded smugly.  
“The transparency effect only works for the person casting magic on you. The rest of people see nothing but normal dress. It’s part of the charm. I remember a time when people wore these to every party.”  
He sighed sentimentally before his expression grew serious.  
“But now we get to hard part. As soon as we leave this building, I’ll take you to Imperial Requisitions office and sell you.”  
“Imperial Requisitions office?” Roshan couldn’t believe her own ears.  
“It’s far more efficient to have an official place where people can come to offer their unborn children, sisters or magical items than to put agents into seedy taverns to drink on empire’s money and hope someone comes to make a worthy offer. I had those, too, in my own lands.” Falon’Din shrugged. He was looking uneasy for some reason, and Roshan did not think it had anything to do with the dress.  
“With this, June’s body spell and the ear kink you should get to Palace. But I can’t help you once you get there. And what the spirits of dead said about the Emperor… It’s really bad, sister.” Falon’Din said reluctantly.  
“How bad?”  
Falon’Din chose his words carefully, looking uncharacteristically solemn.  
“If you tell ever tell or even hint to anyone I said this, I will kill you.” Falon’Din said. Roshan felt cold fingers dancing along her spine. He meant it. He was no longer joking.  
“It might have been the right choice for my brother to betray me so mother and the rest of Evanuris could strike me down, if the second option was to win and become like the Emperor. That is all I have to say about it.”, Falon’Din stated with air of finality.  
Roshan was very quiet. If Falon’Din, of all people, admitted it was better to be struck down and suffer a humiliating defeat than be a person like Eternal Emperor…  
“Then it is more necessary than ever to kill him.” Roshan said. “Before he hurts Dirthamen.”  
She tried to fix a confident smile on her face, but it came out looking fragile and not very convincing. She was afraid, and couldn’t help it. There was so much at stage, and she would be alone.  
Falon’Din looked at her and then took a step forwards, crushing her in a hug. The unexpected gesture of compassion took Roshan by surprise, but it made her better.  
“Just be careful.” Falon’Din told her as he pulled back. “I’d hate to drag you back from the dead again.”  
“I will try not to die.” she promised. “After all, someone has to save you from Dirthamen’s wrath.”  
“That’s true.” Falon’Din nodded. “You are sure you remember everything I told you about charging father’s lighting? And how to call me when it’s time?”  
“I spent my entire childhood by learning obscure pieces of oral lore. I can remember four lines of prayer.” Roshan said sarcastically. “I’m more concerned about the legend someone will eventually write of this. Or what I’m going to tell the baby when she asks about family history. ‘Do you want to hear a story about the time when Uncle Falon’Din sold mommy into brothel, da’len?’.”  
“It’s not a brothel per se.” Falon’Din said airily. “It’s a harem, with approval system. Which reminds you; I should give you a few pointers on getting close enough the Emperor so we can kill him. What most of my concubines could improve on is using tongue on the sensitive spot located right behind--”  
“This kind of information must have been what drove Dirthamen’s priests mad.”  
“Shut up and listen, sister. You’ll thank me for this one day.”

\--

“Three thousand.” the elf on opposite side of the counter said.  
“Are you kidding me? Three thousand for elvhen woman, with a face and body this? Divine creations are not sold for a price of good bow.” Falon’Din sounded insulted.  
“But she’s already with a child. Birth is messy business.”  
“Not just any child. It’s a child of Dumat. Worth at least seventeen thousand.”  
“Child of Dumat?” the officer repeated. A woman who had been leaning against office wall vanished into back room. Roshan felt slightly nervous as she sat next to Falon’Din. His true face was hidden by a glamour and she didn’t know if this was going well or not.  
“Yes, the shemlen dragon god. The shemlen I bought her from told a curious story. He’d been minding his own business when she suddenly appeared out of thin air, falling right front of his wagon. He swore that it was magic. She begged him to take her back to Shrine of Dumat. Obviously, the shemlen had better business mind than that.” Falon’Din crossed a leg over another. “I paid a handsome sum of money for her, and I’m not going to part with her for sheer pittance. I can assure she’s sweet enough for Dumat himself.”  
The officer reached over the counter and rubbed the tip of her ear between his fingers. Roshan clamped down the unwelcome feeling of arousal and fumed quietly with anger.  
“Ah, no sampling the wares before purchase.” Falon’Din said and slapped the elf’s hand away.  
“I was merely checking if the colour was real.” the elf replied. “Many people come here trying to sell just about anything. Last week we had a woman whose ears were sticky with strawberry juice.”  
“It’s real thing. Even if the shemlen’s story about Dumat wasn’t true, the Emperor could own a beautiful woman _and_ a certified Dreamer mage to raise as he sees fit. And my slave is a mystery worth breaching.” Falon’Din flashed a smile to underline his double entendre.  
The back door opened again and the woman returned, walking to counter. The man who had been negotiating with Falon’Din took a step back, deferring to her.  
“Twenty thousand sovereigns, but the sale is effective immediately and you’ll provide us the details on the shemlen.” the woman addressed Falon’Din.  
“If you can pay me in cash.”

It felt surreal to watch Falon’Din counting gold bars the Imperial Requisition officers piled on table. Roshan wondered if it had been like this for her ancestors all those years ago. She couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable even though she knew this was just a plot. It went against all she believed in. The Dalish oath had been born of fates like this, and the people who had first spoken it did not have the advantages she had. They didn’t have a somewhat unreliable Evanuris backing them, and no hope of escape either. She sat on her chair and asked herself why this was so easy? Why a person could just walk into building and sell someone else, just like that? Shouldn’t it be far more difficult? It was all wrong, and it made her angry.  
Falon’Din had finished piling up the gold bars in a small box. He lifted it up and turned to look at Roshan.  
“My blessings to you, Roshie. Goodbye.”  
He left with his box without another word, and Roshan had never felt so lonely and lost.  
  
\--

It soon became clear that Imperial Requisition Office was no stranger to purchasing slaves. They were methodical with the process. First she was taken to room at left, where a mage cast a few spells on her, checking for any possible ailments. Roshan noted a particular spell meant to reveal poisons, weapons and magical threats, but she kept quiet. It was better alternative than Fen’Harel’s idea of enforcing security, and they had expected this. She had nothing except the clothes on her.

The woman who had made the deal with Falon’Din was waiting for her when the mage had finished. She held a long hooded cloak which had some kind of stylized bird motif on the back. Except the bird looked nothing like any species Roshan knew.  
“Put this on. People should know better than stare at Emperor’s property, but there are always few idiots in the crowd.” the woman said.  
Roshan slipped her hands in long sleeves, tying the cord. The hood was so deep that it was restricting her view. She couldn’t see anything to sides except by turning her head, and even sleeves hang way over her fingertips while the hem of the cloak trailed after her.  
“I know the cloak is impossible.” woman said somewhat compassionately. “But it is better than blinding people with hot iron because they spied your profile.”  
“What?” Roshan was aghast.  
The woman was silent for a moment, but when she spoke, she sounded thoughtful.  
“It is standard punishment for looking upon what is for Eternal Emperor’s eyes only. You need a rundown of basic rules, don’t you?”  
Roshan was certain she had done some kind of mistake, blowing what little cover she had to begin with, but woman spoke again.  
“I’ll take you to Imperial Palace myself, and we may chat on our way. Thelhen, mind the shop.”  
“All right, Briala.” the man at the counter answered.

Roshan had expected a walk through city, but she got disappointed. Naturally, Imperial slaves were not going to be toured around the miracles of Golden City, but transported by eluvian conveniently located in office back room. It was unnerving not to see much of anything while she walked, and without Briala’s guidance, she would have stumbled over the hem of the cloak several times.

The bits she could see, however, were magnificent. The floor was enchanted, changing as they walked on it. It displayed stylized pictures which Roshan supposed described events from Emperor’s deign. The style was not unlike Evanuris mosaics.  
“The Imperial Intelligence has been looking for you some time by Emperor’s special request.” Briala said conversationally. “I was convinced you had been snatched up by rebels or worse. It is hard to find someone without proper description. The priests at the Shrine did not survive the attack, and Imperial forces took no prisoners, so we had to piece your description together from a quick glance the griffon riders got on you.”  
“You took no prisoners?” Roshan whispered, and the blood in her veins turned cold. With the mess with Fen’Harel, Falon’Din had not had time to work the spell to scry for Dirthamen. Had it all been for nothing? Had they done a terrible mistake by coming here, if Dirthamen was already dead and there was nobody to save?  
“The priests fought nobly.” Briala said, patting her arm. Her compassion felt somewhat artificial.  
“I’m not asking after the priests. I’m asking after Dumat.” Roshan said.  
Briala was quiet for a moment, clearly considering what to answer.  
“There was one survivor from the shrine who returned here with the Emperor. I can’t tell you more than that.”  
Roshan let out a breath, willing her heart beat to slow down again. So Dirthamen was not dead.  
“Thank you.” she said, feeling grateful.  
“There is a turn to left coming up, and then another mirror which leads to Imperial Harem. You can pull down the hood once we are through.” Briala advised.  
The spy took Roshan’s arm and led her through.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow's chapter is the first chapter with the Emperor, and I'm giving a warning to sensitive readers. The Emperor's character is Evanuris in the worst meaning of the word. He uses his position and power to torment other people simply because he can. 
> 
> So if any of the following things might trigger you, the plot arch beginning from chapter 19 is not safe to read:  
> MAGICAL TORTURE, HUMILIATION, NON/DUBCON SEX, PHYSICAL TRAUMA, MENTAL TRAUMA  
> I'm trying to warn without spoiling the plot too much, so this is somewhat vague. Basically I'm speaking about general shittiness of the Emperor which manifests itself desire demon(ish) way. Like always, I include the nasty parts if I feel they serve the plot, not for plain shock value.


	19. Imperial harem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirthamen wins the first round against the Emperor. The Emperor retaliates.

First, the Emperor kissed him.

The curse escaping Dirthamen’s lips sounded more like a sob when man’s fingers wrapped around the golden girdle around his hips, yanking him on his knees. He burned with need as he pressed his back against Emperor’s chest, willing him to touch lower than the hateful metal thing.  
“Hush, love.” his breath was warm against Dirthamen’s ear. “We know what you crave.”  
He pressed kisses on Dirthamen’s skin, stroking him just the right way, and Dirthamen told himself not to cry. This was not his brother. Falon’Din would never do this to him. Not Falon’Din, not himself, no matter how familiar his voice sounded. It was just a lie. A nightmare.  
Roshan, he thought, clinging to thought like drowning man as he felt his hands on him. He bit his lip to stop a moan from escaping his lips, writhing with lust which was bordering pain. He would not think of this. He was the Keeper of Secrets. This was just a plot, a deceit of his own making, and he was gaining ground with each passing day. He didn’t need to win. He needed only to distract the Emperor long enough. Raising his head, Dirthamen pulled the Emperor down and kissed him hard.

How long it had been already? Days? Weeks? His mind was foggy, and he couldn’t focus. He _had_ to focus. Something as infuriating as a desire curse would not defeat him, because he didn’t want this even though he _wanted_. No. The other one was just a tool. A meaningless pair of hands caressing him. What it mattered whose mouth licked his skin, stroked him until he ached? It was no different, no more meaningful than those people he had taken to bed when he was one of Evanuris. He could no longer recall their names, and he would never ask for his, either. Never.  
“Tell us what you want, love.” the soft words slithered into his dizzy mind.  
“Roshan.”, her name escaped his lips as a needy moan.  
The mouth pressed against his neck turned hard, teeth breaking his skin.  
“Taminsan. Remember it from now on.” the Emperor said, and there was a hard edge on his voice. “We call us Taminsan, two of you inside one. As we will be in you, love.”  
Emperor’s fingers wrapped around the damned belt again, pulling his hips up. When Dirthamen felt the push, his mind turned blank. The lust was momentarily buried under by sharp pain, and he remembered he did not want this. His eyes were still open in the dark, but he did not see the lush silks of his chamber. His mind was taken by a different memory. He laid under a tree in Dalish camp, resting his head on Roshan’s lap. She sang one of the new songs of her People, a Dalish lullaby. The sound was sweet in the Fade, and he felt their baby stopping her restless movements to listen.  
Elgara vallas, da’len. Melava somniar. Mara taren aravas, ara ma’desen melar… Dirthamen’s lips formed the words soundlessly. Ara ma’athlan vhenas. Ara ma’athlan--  
”What in the Void are you whispering?” the Emperor suddenly withdrew, pushing him away so hard that Dirthamen fell face down on the bed. He sounded very angry.  
Dirthamen could not help the hysterical mirth bubbling inside him. He opened his mouth and sang lounder:  
“Where you go, little one, lost to me in sleep? Seek truth in forgotten land—“  
He was rewarded by hard slap against his face, hard enough to draw blood.  
“You are obnoxious!” the Emperor’s black eyes glowed in the dark. “You dare to play with us like this – we are not subject to anyone’s ridicule. Not even yours, reflection. You _will_ regret what just happened.”  
The Emperor stood up and walked out, slamming the door shut behind him. Even though the damned belt was there and his ass hurt, not to mention his cock which was still painfully hard, Dirthamen began to laugh. He laughed until tears run across his face, and he was no longer certain if he was laughing or weeping. Round one: Dirthamen 1, Taminsan 0.

\--

In Roshan’s opinion, the Imperial Harem was terrible cliché. Nobody except the ancient elves could have come up with such a _useless_ concept. The Dalish in her did not understand why anyone would keep a whole house filled of able-bodied and capable women doing nothing all day. But that seemed to be the point of whole thing, she thought grumpily. The Empire could afford to waste its People.

The building, or what little she knew of it, was very beautiful. The area where she had been taken was simply a one large room with several pools of water and an open ceiling. It was a home for thirty women and two dwarven warriors wearing insignia which looked curiously like Legion of the Dead in her own world. The dwarves kept order, broke fights, and handled the distribution of resources like food and mattresses for sleeping. The women bathed, did their hair, tried to come up with new and novel ways to draw Emperor’s attention and fought for the resources to succeed in that. Hair clips, jewellery, any rumours of the Emperor and sex tips were currencies of this miniature court. Even though outside contacts were restricted and women weren’t allowed to have letters or guests, selling one’s slave to Imperial Harem was clearly a game of politics. One needed to be sponsored to succeed, because even though food and the mattress were on the house, clothes and everything else were personally owned. Stolen and ruined, too, if one made enemies. So those women who got regular packets of clothes or ribbons or anything, really, had bargaining power over those who didn’t have family, former owner or any other interested backer in outside world. And the fight for ascendancy was _bloody._ On her first day, one of the women tried to drown another in a hot pool because she suspected the brunette had stolen her lacy thong.

The accident only enforced Roshan’s opinion of Emperor. The harem, as it was, was clearly a social experiment. Only the boldest, craftiest and most ruthless women could stand out from the crowd on the rare occasions Emperor visited this part of the harem, and they had to be patient and determined enough to keep up the constant charm every single day, never knowing if there was going to be a chance to shine or not. From the talk of others, Roshan understood that Imperial visits were far and few between. They were never announced beforehand and the timing did not follow any pattern (even thought that was disputed, since some believed there was a pattern based on movements of the stars and Roshan thought it was likely possibility if the Emperor was anything like her Dirthamen). He never stayed longer than few minutes, but Imperial attention was only way to get forwards. What getting forwards practically meant, Roshan had not yet puzzled out. Was it having an actual bed instead of rolled-up mattress? Having some privacy instead of living in single, open room? Being moved to another part of the harem, with less competition? The women were still talking about someone called Mallina who had been taken away after the Emperor had looked at her longer than three seconds on last time he visited the room four months ago. A cynical side of Roshan wondered if Mallina had truly gone to live in luxury like the women thought, or had she became a fuel for blood magic spell, instead? What Falon’Din had said about the Emperor and what stories Solas had told her, she just wasn’t sure. She didn’t know enough to make any plans yet.

One thing was sure. The other women did not like her. They were keeping their distance, watching her and if she asked questions, they ignored her. In a way, Roshan understood them. She had nice dress, pink ears and the form June had designed. Even though she was starting to feel like that she was going to switch back to something less noticeable as soon as she had given birth. Having excellent constitution, quick reflexes and good strength weren’t worth of getting drowned in a hot pool simply because those physical advantages happened to come hand in hand with symmetrical face.  
The fact she got fruits because she had a Dreamer baby really pissed them off. She had seen more friendly glances in Orlesian court than when the dwarven guard, Sigrun, brought her two oranges.  
“You should stay on your guard and sleep with your back against the wall.” the dwarf guard, Sigrun, said. “Ashalle does not like you, and she got a packet of silk ribbons yesterday.”  
“Which one of them is Ashalle?” Roshan asked. She was not going to be strangled in her sleep because of fruit. After all she had been through, it felt like ridiculous reason to die, but she seemed to attract those.  
“She is the short one with raven hair, bathing in the pool on left.” Sigrun replied. “The blonde with blue ribbon is Laina.”  
“The lace thong assailant.” Roshan’s eyes narrowed.  
“Yes, she’s the—“  
The door leading outside was suddenly opened, and the whole room went in flurried panic.  
“His Eternal Imperial Majesty.”, a new dwarf announced as he marched in first, followed by half a squadron of legionnaires.

The Emperor did not look happy. In fact, Emperor’s expression reminded Roshan of furious Falon’Din and the time he had killed her by ritual sacrifice because he was jealous of Dirthamen. She put the orange down slowly, unable to shake the feeling something was very wrong. The women were clustering around the Emperor and his guards, flashing smiles and chatting eagerly. His black gaze was searching their faces, looking for something, and Roshan felt a primal tinge of fear deep in her belly. Even though she knew it was opposite of what she was supposed to do in this situation, she spied a partially shadowed spot near the ornate pillars and sitting area. It was best hiding place she could find in an open room, so Roshan started to sneak towards it, trying not to draw attention in a crowd of women which was pushing towards the door.

She was halfway there, when the Emperor raised his hand to request silence. The bright murmur of female voices ended immediately as they all waited, eager to know what their master wished to say.  
“Is there one among you who is called Roshan?” he asked, and the sparkle of fear in Roshan’s stomach turned into ice.  
The chirping of concubines began again, and what she could make out of it, at least one fourth of them claimed to share a name with her in some manner. They were welcome to it. She slipped behind the  pillar and focused her gaze on the colourful dresses of the women around Emperor. Turning away would have drawn too much attention, but she didn’t want to give him a good look on her face, either. Briala had said that they had not gotten accurate description of her at the shrine.  
Then, one voice rose over others. It was a low alto of dwarven woman.  
“I think she is the new one here. The one with fruit privilege.” Sigrun said brightly.  
“Fruit privilege?” the Emperor repeated, and there was no mistaking the gleefulness on his voice.  
“Yes. We give them out for extra nutrition for those pregnant with Dreamer children, regardless of Tier rank. I haven’t had time to fill the paperwork yet, but the signs were clear so I thought...” Sigrun’s voice became uncertain.  
“You did as you should. Where is this new one? Calling her out by name clearly isn’t going to work. I find it peculiar that there are fourteen Roshans in a room of thirty women.” the Emperor’s voice was sarcastic.  
“Oh, she is the red-haired one standing between the couch and the western pillar.” Sigrun said helpfully.  
Roshan wanted to die. Couldn’t the floor have split open and swallowed her for once? There weren’t even windows for jumping, or any other convenient method for expedient escape.

Sadly, she did not die. Instead she stood there feeling like a target on a field while Emperor turned his black gaze on her. A flicker of recognition flashed on his face, and he smiled at her. It was pleased, almost smile, but a bit too sharp. Pushing through the crowd of scantily clad women, the Emperor strode towards her, followed by his dwarven guards.  
“So there you are.” he said, looking at her from top to toe. “You must be good at hiding, for having avoided detection for so long. I was pleased to hear you were finally found. I thought you might have returned to your world already.”  
He walked around her in slow circle, reminding Roshan of a hawk after prey. _Be angry_ , she reminded herself. _Let him make you angry._ But she still felt fear.  
The Emperor sat on the sofa, patting the place next to him with his jewelled hand. His hands looked disturbingly like Dirthamen’s. He had same long, slender fingers. But Dirthamen’s hands were strong, and fingertips were calloused by working the strings of his instruments. He wore no jewelry.  
“Come here, Roshan. Let me look at you properly.”  
Feeling like a sacrificial goat, she sat on her assigned place next to him. The vein on her neck throbbed madly as her heart raced. She felt a cool touch of his magic, searching for something, but she did not recognize the spell.  
“It is you.” he said, sounding satisfied.  
He put his arms on her hips, lifting her straddled on his lap. Then the Emperor bent his head and kissed her.

There was something wrong with her mind, she understood dimly. Very wrong. It felt like she was burning with lust, and she couldn’t think straight. She circled her hips in terrible need, trying to find release, oblivious to their audience. He laughed. The laugh was low, familiar, but there was sharper edge to it. Everything in him was sharper, darker.  
“Wife.”, he smirked at her.  
“Not yours.” she hissed as she opened her legs wider, rutting herself against his lap. The fabric of her wide skirts spread over his knees like a flower. He had to touch her. Otherwise she would go mad. She knew it.  
“What do you want, Roshan?” he asked, not moving an inch.  
“Please.”  
“Please what?” the Emperor asked, widening his eyes in fake astonishment.  
“Please help me.”, she almost choked on the words.  
“We will help you, sweet one.” he promised, and she could have cried for sheer relief. “But next time, we need you to say the words.”  
He slipped his hand under her skirts. Roshan was too far gone to care about his attendants watching how she squirmed on his lap, rocking against his fingers. She whined as she felt the touch her mind craved so, and her breath caught on her throat as she felt his free hand cupping her ass, holding her on place. Within thirty heartbeats, she was moaning, almost crying against Emperor’s shoulder as she came. Her whole body shook, trembling, and her stomach turned into stone hard, making it difficult to breathe.  
“Hush, sweet one.” his voice was deceptively soft, like lover’s. “You were perfect.”  
She closed her eyes to not see the faces of people around her. The lust was clearing from her mind, replaced by burning shame. Roshan leaned against Emperor’s shoulder, utterly spent, and she _hated_ him.

 

Roshan sat on the damned couch and tried to ignore the cooling moisture between her legs. She held her face in her hands, and willed herself not to look as the Emperor left the room with his entourage. What the fuck had just happened? What was wrong with her mind?  
“Druast’asha.” a deep bass voice spoke to her, and armoured gauntlet touched her shoulder. Roshan looked up. It was one of the dwarves from Emperor’s guard.  
“I’m Lieutenant Renn of Legion of the Dead, Imperial Guard unit. You have been relocated from Fourth Tier”, the dwarf informed her.  
Roshan glared at him.  
“Do not tell me there is some sort of caste system in this blighted pit.” she said between her teeth.  
“I won’t, then.” Renn shrugged. “It’s all the same to me. Legion of the Dead exists outside the castes. Please follow me.”  
He led her through the door, and Roshan could hear the women whispering behind her as she left them behind. They were in long corridor, filled with doors looking just like the one she had come from.  
“Are they all…” her voice trailed off.  
“Yep. Was pain in the ass to look for you, I gotta say.” Renn noted as they turned to right in another similar corridor.  
“Is it likely that someone is going to strike a dagger through my back?” she asked from Renn.  
“If you were Second or Third Tier, it could happen. Below that level, they don’t usually bother. But since you are First Tier, I wouldn’t be too worried about daggers. The Emperor would notice if something happened to you and get pissed.” Renn predicted.  
He pushed open the gilded door leading through a beautiful archway, revealing a small hallway with four doors. There were four legionnaires standing on the guard in the middle of the chamber.  
“Of course, it merely means they won’t murder you directly. If they can kill you without getting caught, it’s entirely different game. That’s why this part of the harem is guarded by legionnaires ‘round the clock, servants are legionnaire recruits and I’m assigned to keep you alive, Druast’asha.”  
“What did you call me again?”, Roshan registered the honorific.  
“It’s all here.” Renn pulled a parchment from his pocket. “By order of the Emperor, all members of Eternal Court are to call you Druast’asha or ‘Most Holy Mother of Evanuris’, and the latter is a mouthful. Calling you by any other name is punishable by decapitation.”  
“In that case, call me Druast’asha.” Roshan sighed. “Do you have a bath around here? I feel like I want to scrub my skin off.”  
“Yep. We’re getting there. On your left is the entrance to Garden of Dreams. It’s a restricted area for those favoured by Emperor.” Renn nodded. “On your right, rooms of lady Tarasha. You can call her by name, no special orders there, but I would stay away from her if I were you. She’s been the only lady of First Tier for last three years after lady Venurfaldin died from sudden allergic reaction towards apples.”  
“Sudden allergic reaction towards apples?” Roshan repeated.  
“Allergic reactions can get epidemic around here.” Renn noted. “For some reason, ladies who are publicly favoured by Emperor seem to be most prone to them. Must be an accident.”  
“Certainly.” Roshan said dryly. She should have known. Dodging jealous contenders for favours of the man she was planning to kill was just her luck.  
“This is yours.” Renn said, opening the second door on the left. “Anything you want, we’ll bring.”  
“Can I have a weapon?” Roshan asked.  
“Mage staffs aren’t allowed in the Imperial harem, but I could get you a bow. I’ll just say you want to practice shooting in the garden. Maybe some throwing knives, too.”  
She smiled at Renn.  
“Bow would be fine.”


	20. The Garden of Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roshan roams through the Garden of Dreams and meets her Rage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a double update. Chapters 19 and 20 were published on the same day so if you last read a chapter where Falon'Din earned 20 000 sovereigns, go back and read chapter 19 first.
> 
> Those who like to listen music while reading, the soundtrack for Emperor's garden is Perseus from Clash of Titans OST.  
> https://youtu.be/B9W7EVWvrIE  
> Roshan's garden adventures are my favourite part of this story. I think she goes a bit Andruil there.

Despite her unwillingness to like anything in Imperial Harem, Roshan found she enjoyed the Garden of Dreams very much. It was a wondrous place. It was perpetual dusk in gardens, and all the flowers and trees were washed out in different shades of black, white and grey. Only sounds were the occasional trills of nightingale and other night birds, or wind rustling in the trees. In paths between the trees, spirits wandered freely. One could see the dreams of people in surface of pond. She often watched the flickering lives of others, sitting on a soft grass for hours. It was soothing to be alone in the darkness. Their baby liked it too, Roshan thought. She could feel her moving under her hands as she stroked her lovingly with magic. She couldn’t make it feel like daffodil fluff, but Fen’Harel’s healer mage had said it was good for the baby.

On most nights, however, she hunted in the gardens with her new friend, a Spirit of Rage. Roshan had met the spirit at the garden gates on first day after her unwanted promotion, and with her current state of mind, they were very much drawn to each other. She liked Rage. It wasn’t interested in pretences, and it crackled like fire whenever she thought of the Emperor.

Together, Roshan and her Rage ventured far beyond the gates of Garden, into wilder areas where things lurked in the darkness. Fear stalked in the shadows there, along with Despair and Terror. Their hunt reminded Roshan of the strange days she had spent running from Andruil. But she wasn’t the prey, now, but the hunter, and it was so much _better_. A wild, predatory joy surged in her heart as Despair flew from them, and she pursued it relentlessly, scaling the cliffs and running through the shadowy terrain of Emperor’s garden with bow in her hand. Roshan had no thoughts in her head, no worries. There was nothing but her Rage and her prey, and the taste of blood in her mouth.

They never gave up, pursuing Despair night after night, and finally they caught it. Her Rage sparkled brighter than ever when the Despair fell from her arrows, beaten.   
“We still have your Fear to conquer. Sloth. And one other, I think. But their deaths will only feed our anger and make us stronger.” Rage said as they crouched together, watching over Despair’s corpse which was already decomposing into deep green substance of Fade.   
“I know Fear, and I can understand Sloth. It must find a lot of easy prey from Emperor’s harem. But which is the third?” Roshan asked.  
“I can’t tell you. You must name it. Only then we can hunt it down and kill it.”, Rage answered.  
Spirits were cryptic. It was their nature, even though it was also very frustrating.   
“What is that light over there?” she asked as she stood up, straightening her back.   
“It’s the tower where Emperor keeps his prize. It’s on the other side of the garden.” Rage answered.   
“Why I haven’t seen it before? We’ve been here at least three or four times. I remember the crooked tree over there, but there was no tower behind it.”, Roshan looked at the tower.   
“Garden of Dreams hides some things from view. You despaired before. Now you see.” her Rage smiled with burning eyes.   
She walked forwards, keeping her eyes on the tower. As she reached the top of the hill, she saw it. The light she had seen was coming from the highest window. Highest window of the tallest tower, was it? Apparently a flair for ridiculous drama was a trait Emperor shared with her Dirthamen. Roshan was willing to bet what, or to precise, _who_ the Emperor kept there.

So close, but so far. The hill ended abruptly. There was nothing but a vast emptiness between her and her prize, a chasm like she had seen in broken Vir’Dirthara during Exalted Council.   
“No matter.” Roshan said, not willing to give in Despair as she turned towards her Rage. “I think we are going to hunt Sloth next and then come back to this place.”  
Rage smiled, and she smiled back at it.

\--

 

“Would it be easier to do what you were asked to?” Sloth asked with yawn. “You could just wait and go home with the baby. Sing the song and get him back that way. Nobody would blame you. It’s likely it would be better for him and easier for you, too. There would be no scars, but a whole man.”  
“I’m not giving up.”, Roshan said, pulling the bowstring taut. Her Rage crackled beside her.   
“You would not danger everything he loves that way. You, the little one, his brother.”  
She let go of the arrow. It sank between the hard scales of Sloth’s back, but Sloth didn’t even bother to flinch.   


“It’s terribly tiresome to run from one place to another, especially with that belly of yours. Whenever you have to stop to wait it to soften again, your prey escapes and the hunt is ruined. I don’t think it’s worth it, really. When Emperor finds out what you have been doing, he’s going to stop you anyway. He’ll make you paint with watercolours instead. All day long.”  
“I _hate_ watercolours.” Roshan told Sloth and drew another arrow from her quiver.  
Josephine had tried to make her paint with watercolours once, because it was a fashionable way to pass time among Orlesian ladies. Vivienne had been quite good at it, and Roshan had gone along because she wanted to please Vivienne. She was her friend.   
“I hate watercolours, too. All those misshapen fruits and boring bowls. They should burn.” her Rage said.   
“I’m never going to be a useless woman spending her days in a lap of luxury and painting fruit.” Roshan spat. “I would rather run, even though it is not easy.”  
Sloth stood up. Its form changed, and it suddenly looked like Duchess Florianne.   
“There is no reasoning with you, I see. “, Sloth said with cultured Orlesian accent. “A savage rabbit like you cannot understand how good things are to you. You are favoured by most powerful man in whole world, married to a god, and you lack for nothing. You still are not satisfied.”  
Quietly, her Rage moved behind Sloth, flanking it.   
“The time for talk is over. Now you will die.” she said and shot Florianne.

She felt so much better after killing Sloth. For some odd reason, it had decomposed only partially, leaving the head behind. Since she wasn’t sure what to do with a severed head which still looked like Florianne, Roshan had decided to agree to Rage’s suggestion of taking it along when they headed back towards the far edge of Garden of Dreams. Roshan was eager to see if she was going to get closer to tower this time. Maybe Florianne’s head would come handy in some unseen way.  
She wondered what Dirthamen would do if she threw a severed head through the window of his prison. Maybe she could attach a love note to it, scribbled in Sloth’s blood since she didn’t have ink. The though was ridiculous and made her giggle. Her Rage thought it was great idea, but Roshan suspected it was mostly because Rage was eager to break Emperor’s expensive glass window.   
There was new spring in her step as they walked through the dark garden, and she didn’t mind even if they had to stop for a while to wait her belly soften again. The contractions didn’t hurt and they were still going forwards. It was all that mattered.

Her joy came to abrupt stop when they crossed a clearing near the garden gates and were met by a group of courtiers. She could see the Emperor among them, standing taller than the others. Rage sparked at first, but when the elves spotted them and she felt Emperor’s black eyes on her, her Rage seemed to grow less bright. It was a spark of fear what she felt in her belly as she stood there, holding a bow in one hand and Florianne’s head in another.   
“Go.”, Roshan said to Rage. “I will meet you later.”  
Upon the quiet defiance of her words, her Rage sparked again and left on its separate way through the trees. Considering her options, Roshan decided that best thing to do was to simply walk through the gates. There was no avoiding the crowd, but no reason to join them, either. Roshan was simply minding her own business and returning to her room since she had not been invited to that party. The elves dressed in finery looked too Slothy to her anyway. Maybe the Emperor had brought them here to feed duchesses of his garden.

Her mind made up, Roshan chose the quickest route past the courtiers and started walking. She could feel people staring at the severed head she was hanging by hair. But this was not the first time she’d been called a savage behind her back or at her face, and it was likely not to be the last, either. They could stare all they wanted.   
It worked fine until a nicely dressed man stepped forwards, blocking her way.   
“Are you going to protect us from the dreams in Emperor’s garden, my lady?” the man asked mockingly.   
“No.”, Roshan replied, adjusting the bow on her shoulder. “I expect a man of your age and position is perfectly able to look after himself, since I am, too. I’m not very good with a bow.”  
Some of the courtiers began to laugh, but the man turned red with anger and embarrassment. The woman on Emperor’s arm looked pissed. Maybe she was lady Tarasha Renn had mentioned. The Emperor had a small, amused smile on his lips, but he lacked the laugh lines around his eyes. It was good. Roshan did not like it when Emperor looked just like Dirthamen.  
She pushed her way through the courtiers and they stepped aside, not wanting their finery to be dirtied by her bloody and sweat-drenched leathers. And when she finally got through the gates where Renn was waiting for her, Roshan felt almost foolish in her relief having dodged the Emperor.   
“I don’t think I need this anymore.” she said and handed Florianne’s head to Renn.   
“I’m starting to think I was lucky with this assignment.” Renn noted. “I was afraid you’d be the type giving me pet nugs to hold.”  
  
\--

 

There was new addition to Emperor’s table that night. Dirthamen smelled it as soon as he was escorted in the room. A severed head reeking blood was sitting on a pedestal, and someone had added a third chair around the table. The Emperor was already there, buttering a slice of bread.   
“Do you recognize that one?” Emperor nodded towards the head. It was a human woman, blond with short hair. Dirthamen appraised she was in her fifties, but clearly a person who had lived a life of privilege. There were no wrinkles, even though the lines from her nose towards mouth were clearly visible. Likely a product of expensive skin creams and magic-enhanced cosmetic treatments.   
“No.”, Dirthamen shook his head.   
“Are you certain?” the Emperor asked.   
“I have never seen her in my life.”  
“Interesting.” the Emperor noted. He seemed pleased with the answer he got, and Dirthamen did not like it. Ever since the Emperor – Taminsan, his mind whispered – had stormed out of his room, Dirthamen had suspected the man was planning something foul. He knew himself and he knew Falon’Din. Neither of them would ever have bear a humiliation gracefully, and lately the Emperor had been on excellent mood whenever Dirthamen had seen him. He was almost smug.   
“Have you ever wondered what is behind that window, Dirthamen?” the Emperor asked conversationally.   
“Trees. A cliff.”  
“Indeed. There is a lovely area called Garden of Dreams. It was the first addition to palace grounds we commissioned after we joined into one. It’s Fade-built and restricted to those enjoying our favour. There are four entrances. One from this tower, one from our personal rooms, one reserved for ladies of First Tier and one which leads to main palace.”, the Emperor explained, sketching an outline on a napkin. “You should visit our gardens some time. We believe you would enjoy what it has to offer.”  
Dirthamen made a non-committal noise. He knew when he was being baited.   
“We have court matters to deal with, but first we must ask you a question, Dirthamen. Will you join us tonight? Maybe give us a kiss?” the Emperor leaned forwards with a smirk.   
“I prefer my bed without your enchantments.” Dirthamen replied. Looking at the Emperor, he said with a cruel smile: “They were somewhat disappointing last time, don’t you think?”  
“Very well. We will ask you again next time we see you.” the Emperor said as he finished his meal and stood up.   
Dirthamen looked on as the Emperor left with his guards. He could not quite shake the feeling that something was wrong. The Emperor had not seemed disappointed at all when he declined. More like opposite.

 

\--

 

It was still early when Roshan was escorted through the golden halls of Emperor’s palace. Renn had woken her up hours ago, bringing unfortunate news. The Emperor wished for her company. Through the bathing and grooming and negotiating with her servants to get a dress which was as unappealing as possibly could be, Roshan had cursed the luck which had brought her to Emperor’s attention last night. She was making headway with Rage, she could feel it. But even if she could charge Elgar’nan’s lighting to killing strength, it was no use if she wasn’t going to get a shot at the Emperor, she reminded herself. And she was running on a schedule. She would get back home in time, with Dirthamen and Falon’Din both. So meeting with the Emperor was necessary bad. Not that she had a choice – Roshan knew the Legion of Dead would drag her to meet his Imperial Majesty even if she declined the honor.

As she walked forwards, Roshan mused that Solas locking away the Evanuris might have been a great idea after all. It seemed to have done wonders to their characters. Falon’Din at his worst was practically a nice person compared to Eternal Emperor. If she had to live in world like this permanently, she would have walked to Skyhold to join the rebels.  
Roshan was surprised when Renn opened a door leading to chamber with an eluvian and gestured towards the mirror.   
“His Eternal Majesty is waiting on other side.”, her bodyguard said.   
Collecting her skirts, Roshan placed one hand against the mirror. She had insisted on long skirts if he was going to play the kiss curse on her again. It hadn’t helped much last time, but having what cover fabric could provide had made her feel marginally less ashamed about whole thing. Besides, she refused to wear the flimsy things favoured by most in Imperial harem.

The Emperor was sitting by a round table with three chairs set around it. Florianne’s head was on the pedestal by Emperor’s right hand. So that was where it had ended up.  
“You looked far more interesting yesterday.”, the Emperor greeted her, nodding towards the chair by his left hand. “The dress you wear now does not suit you at all. It’s dreadfully boring.”  
“Your servants feel that leathers are not proper attire to meet the Eternal Emperor.”, Roshan replied.   
“We will assign you new servants, then. Your current ones are clearly not on board with their duties.”, Emperor said disapprovingly. “A lady of First Tier should be delight for our eyes.”  
“Doesn’t it make your relationships with women of your harem dreadfully boring?”, Roshan asked as the servants began to cater the table. It looked like they were going to have breakfast.  
“It does.”, the Emperor nodded, looking pleased. “That’s why we like difficult ones best. Your husband is terribly difficult person.”  
“Why do you keep him? You are already powerful enough.”, Roshan asked as she began to carve a piece of meat. It looked like pork.  
“Like we just said, our reflection is terribly difficult. We like fucking him, too. He curses and weeps.”  
Roshan considered the carving knife in her hand. She looked at the knife, then at the Emperor. She felt very cold, almost detached from her own body and from what she had just heard. She thought of stories she had heard about Hero of Ferelden, and the famous Murder Knife.   
“In our world, Dirthamen and Falon’Din did not have sexual relationship.”, Roshan said, forcing herself to put the knife down.   
“But now you are in our world, sweet one. Here, we were lovers.”, the Emperor said. “It’s one thing we have missed after joining as one. Even if we divided each other in two or more bodies, it does not feel like it used to.”  
“If you are looking for that, I don’t believe you are going to have it from my Dirthamen.”, Roshan said. Her words sounded slow and very precise in her own ears. Like she was drunk, but she wasn’t.   
“You would really like to kill us now, wouldn’t you?”, the Emperor asked. “We can feel the rage coming from you. It’s very cold.”  
Roshan lifted her gaze. It felt like she was burning from the inside, but it was cold.  
“I have killed two gods. It simply does not suit me to kill you just yet.”, she replied, looking straight into Emperor’s black eyes.  
“The interesting thing is.”, the Emperor breathed, looking enthralled, “that it doesn’t feel like you were lying to us just now. We think we’re going to keep you.”  
The door opened behind Roshan. The Emperor looked past her, and smiled in a way which she could never quite describe. In her mind, it was simply evil.  
“Dirthamen.”, the Emperor spoke, enjoying every word. “We promised to ask you again today whether you will welcome us to your bed tonight. But we’ve changed our mind. We’ll have your wife instead.”

 

 


	21. The Emperor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirthamen ruins Emperor's perfect manuscript for the end of his love affair. The Emperor is not happy.
> 
> “I tried to play it to beautiful end for your sake, Dirthamen.” the Emperor told to his reflection as the man struggled to get up again. “But you had to ruin it. Now we need to do this the hard way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Imperial Art Department of Eternal Empire recommends following accompaniment to tonight's play, graciously chosen by Eternal Emperor himself.
> 
> First part describing the inevitable future of Our Reflection's love affair.  
> \-- the song https://youtu.be/EuDJq5Akfj4  
> \-- the lyrics http://www.metrolyrics.com/yours-lyrics-lovex.html  
> It should not be said that We are not compassionate! We mirror Our Reflection, pre-feeling his feels!
> 
> For ungrateful Reflection with no taste for real art or appreciation to Our efforts on his behalf, a lesson is required:  
> \-- Dark Solas theme from Trespasser https://youtu.be/CuoIhh1-7-I
> 
> For Our Evening Date with Roshan:  
> \-- There is a God in You. https://youtu.be/8sqNvg4snJc  
> Not quite yet, but soon! Your Emperor is the Master of Double Entendres!
> 
> [clap now or die]

“So this is what you had in your sleeve.” Dirthamen’s voice was very soft.  
Roshan held her eyes closed tightly, not caring about the tears dwelling behind her eyelids. One, then two fell down along her cheekbones, glistening in the light. They looked like crystal drops, the Emperor thought. Lovely.  
He leaned forwards, cupping her face, and kissed them away. Her tears tasted sweet, and the sudden spike of power cut by Girdle of Imprisonment was even sweeter. Roshan opened her eyes.  
“I will kill you.” she said.  
There was nothing but a simple conviction in her voice. He found it enthralling. Most People did not believe themselves when they said it. True believers were rarity to be savoured. They held on, and held on, until the moment when their faith finally broke. The crash was complete, overwhelming. It took everything and left nothing except exquisite expression of poetic destruction. It was one of the few experiences which still held an air of uniqueness to him. Therefore it must be cherished.  
“No, Roshan. He will only hurt you worse.” Dirthamen said. He stood by the door, held by a dwarven guard on each side of him. His mask was cracking. It was almost visible thing, the Emperor mused with delight.  
“He is going to do it anyway. It is what he enjoys the most.” Roshan said.  
“You know us so well.” the Emperor cooed, feeling almost gentle. Her skin under his hand was soft. For a moment, he played with the idea of pushing his nails a bit deeper just to see blood dwelling up, but he perished the thought. It was too cliché. His reflection earned a finer ending for his love story than tropes of common villainy.  
“Renn. Bring her armor and weapons.” he commanded, not yet letting go of her face. He moved his thumb a bit and saw a stain of bluish purple on her skin. Smiling, the Emperor pressed a bit harder. She grit her teeth together, but didn’t make a sound.  
“Even if you don’t let him hear your hurt, it doesn’t mean he wouldn’t know, sweet one.” he said benevolently. She was such a fool. Charming.  
“If I asked you to reconsider, you would not do it.”, Dirthamen said hollowly.  
“Of course not, love. It’s simply a matter of power. If we agreed to have you instead of her, we would effectively give you the ability to control her fate, no matter how temporarily. This way, we can have you both and give up nothing. It is so much better.”  
The dwarf returned in the room. There was soft creak of leather when lieutenant Renn lowered his bundle on the table, and a small knock on the wood when he placed simple bow and quiver of arrows next to it.  
Dirthamen looked at the Emperor, and there was murder in his eyes. The Emperor smiled.  
“Are you still going to kill me, sweet one?” he asked, removing his hand from her face. Bruises bloomed on her skin, like a purple flower. The colour was almost the exact shade of his reflection’s eyes.  
“Yes.”  
“And if you fail?”  
“If I fail, it doesn’t matter anymore.” she said, and he felt lovely thrill of anticipation.  
“So it doesn’t.”, he agreed, feeling pleased.  
“It does.” Dirthamen snapped, ruining his perfect manuscript with his interjection.  
“For a God of Silence, you are insistent on trying to ruin my play.” the Emperor raised his hand in anger. “You should not have done it.”  
The ring on his hand flashed, returning the attack Girdle of Imprisonment had stopped earlier. Dirthamen cried out in pain, falling on one knee. The sound was banal, unneeded, the Emperor thought angrily. The mood was ruined; the moment was gone.  
“I tried to play it to beautiful end for your sake, Dirthamen.” the Emperor told to his reflection as the man struggled to get up again. “But you had to ruin it. Now we need to do this the hard way.”  
He stood up and grabbed Roshan’s arm.  
“You have until sundown.” he said to woman. “Your armor and bow are on the table, and your idiot husband will assist you putting them on. You may go to my garden and do what you wish for this last day, but when the sun sets, you will come to me. Then you pay for every last word of his obnoxious insolence. And because he had to ruin it, I will make you burn until there is nothing left.”  
Glancing at Dirthamen with a cruel smile on his lips, the Emperor turned back to Roshan.  
“Now, sweet one, give me a kiss.”  
And he kissed her.

 

She could not think. She barely understood when the Emperor let go of her, or when he left the room, because there was nothing in her mind but the terrible need. It was an ache, a craving strong enough to make her fall on her knees. She throbbed with want, and the sheer agony of it made her weep.  
“Roshan.”  
Someone spoke to her, but the voice was wrong. The hands pulling her up were wrong, not the ones she needed to stop the burn. She didn’t want them. She turned away, trying to curl on the floor.  
“FENEDHIS LASA, ROSHAN, LOOK AT ME!”  
His voice cut through the fog, ringing sharp and demanding. It would not be denied. Trembling, she looked at him.  
“Think of a song. Any song will do, as long as it is important to you in some way.” he said, holding her shoulders so tight it hurt. His eyes were purple, and they were hard as he looked at her.  
“Sing it.”  
She didn’t want to, but she was afraid he’d make her hurt more. His hands were wrong, but it was his voice which made her feel frightened.  
“A soldier, a saviour.” she began hesitantly, sobbing. “A hero, a leader. Inquisitor fought for our souls.”  
“Again.”  
She wept and started again. Didn’t he see she was burning? She was losing her mind, and he wanted her to sing a stupid song. She couldn’t even remember more than first three lines.  
“Don’t touch me.”, she begged. “It makes the burn worse.”  
“Keep singing.” he commanded, but he took his hands away.  
“A soldier, a saviour. A hero, a leader...”

First thing she saw were her hands. They were resting on her knees, and there were tiny wet spots on the fabric of her dress, like splashes from tears. She stared at the curve of her stomach, trying to remember why. What. She felt the hungry need deep in her core, but it was muted, somehow.  
“..Fought for our souls.” she whispered, finishing the verse. Then she looked up and saw him kneeling in front of her, as close as he could without touching.  
“Vhenan.”, she said.  
“I can help with the armor.” a gruff voice offered. It was Renn.  
“No. I will do it.”, Dirthamen said.

Dirthamen’s movements were slow and very careful as he made sure he would not touch her. He lowered the long, sleeveless mage armor on her shoulders, waiting until she put her arms through. Roshan watched his hands, slender and strong, working the clasps and fastenings. He secured the straps of arrow quiver over her chest. Finally he took the belt with a dagger from the table, and reached to fasten it around her waist. But just when he was fastening the clasp, the baby moved, kicking his hand. He stopped abruptly, in the middle of the movement, and the sheer weight of sorrow on his face ignited a different kind of burn in her heart. It was cold one, and it burned away her fear. It was the bloody vengeance.

“We need to leave now, Druast’asha.” Renn said, opening a door.  
“I will see her to garden door.” Dirthamen said neutrally. “It is within bounds of my prison.”  
“But the Emperor...”  
“Did not say I can’t go that far. Is it not a privilege of a man in this Empire to send his wife to be raped and murdered? Tortured for hours until sundown?” Dirthamen shouted.  
Roshan had never heard him so full of hatred. The dwarves fell silent.  
“To garden door. No further.” one of them finally said.

The curse was getting worse. Roshan could feel it rising, but she would not writhe or moan while Dirthamen saw her. She’d bit her lips into bloody mess before leaving him with an image like that.  
She swallowed. The corridor was short, but she was desperate for it to end. Her mouth tasted like iron.  
Ten steps. She would not despair.  
Fifteen steps. She would not give in.  
Twenty steps. The door.  
“I can’t follow you further, gaidhalas.” Dirthamen said.  
“I will kill the bastard.” Roshan told him. “I did not come here to fail. I came to save you.”  
He gave her a faint smile, but it was laced with sadness. The laugh lines were not there.  
“I should have known it.”, he said softly.  
“It’s time to go, Druast’asha.” Renn said, pushing open the door. The darkness of emperor’s garden waited there, and something else too, behind black and white flowers and the crooked trees. It was a bright splash of colour on the monochromatic canvas. Her Rage.  
“Dirthamen.”, she said, holding on by shreds of her determination. “Promise me one thing before I go. It is important. Stay here and wait until morning before you do anything.”  
He did not speak, but she saw the tiny nod he made. It was enough. Roshan gripped the limb of her bow and crossed the threshold. The door closed behind her, and she was alone. Rage floated to meet her, burning and bright.  
“First we will hunt down my Fear.” Roshan said. “And then we will slay Desire.”  
Her Rage smiled back at her.  
“Rage burns brighter than lust.” it promised, and she wanted so badly to believe it.

\--

 

She did not need to search for her Fear. It came to her, in a form of huge spider. It found her as she writhed on the ground, trying to make the incessant burning between her legs stop. But the touch of her own hands didn’t help; it was just useless, and the sheer frustration made her scream. Rage watched her, crackling.  
“You will fail.” Fear purred. “Can you feel the pain squeezing you yet? Your heart told you that you should be careful, but you were not. Babies are fragile. It’s too early. Your little one has been so brave, but you can’t stop the curse any better than you could keep Truth from possessing you.”  
“I do not fear the Emperor. I _hate_.” Roshan screamed at the spider. It stood over her, watching her with eight black eyes. The Emperor had same eyes. All black and no white at all.  
“You may not fear him, but there are other things you can’t bear to think. Things you deny.” Fear said. It lifted one hairy foot and pressed it over her torso. Then it pushed down hard.  
It was a sharp, terrible pain. She screamed and twisted and writhed, flailing blindly at spider’s leg holding her down. She wounded one leg, but the spider simply switched feet, stepping lower this time. She could not reach that far, and she could feel the baby wiggling in panic. Her little one was trying to move away, but there was no room. There was nowhere to go.  
Rage did not help her; it simply stood there and watched.  
“Do something!” she pleaded.  
“I can’t, unless you let me in.”, her Rage replied.  
“I won’t.”, she cried, hiccupping hysterically. She broke down as the spider stretched another leg, brushing the hairy limb against her face.  
“Dirthamen!” Roshan screamed. He was not afraid of spiders, and Fear would bow to him. He would take it off, and stop it hurting the baby.  
“Even if he hears, he cannot come to you.” Fear said. “Your baby can’t survive the curse, and your body knows it. Even if you could win against the Emperor, you’ll have empty arms forever.”  
It pushed a bit deeper, and she heard a pop. A different kind of wetness spread between her legs, and she stared at the monstrous spider, feeling shocked.  
“This was not how it was going to happen.” she said. The icy cold started from her fingertips, travelling upwards until it reached her heart. Then, it stayed.  
“My baby was to be cherished.” Roshan told Fear. “She would have been born in our house on the islet, safe and sound. Dirthamen would have held me. I could have leaned against him, and he would have soothed my hurt.”  
She lifted herself up, leaning on elbow.  
“You ruined it. Now I have nothing left to fear.”  
Roshan grabbed the hairy leg of the spider and ice spread from her heart. Her Fear froze, the cold creeping over all eight legs and venomous fangs and two rows of black eyes until nothing moved.  
“I _hate_.” Roshan swore with vengeance and Fear shattered in thousand pieces by Stonefist spell.

As she stood up slowly, she felt a different kind of pain squeezing her middle. But her Fear was spent; it was only a matter of waiting for inevitable. What went in, had to come out. She could not stop it. She couldn’t stop anything, _ever_ , and it made her furious.  
“It is not long now.” her Rage said, crossing its hands. Emperor’s flowers burned in a circle around it.  
“To which end?” Roshan asked, supporting herself against a tree.  
“Both.” Rage replied. “The sky over the palace is turning orange and red and yellow. He smiles as he looks at the window. Anticipation. If you cannot win against your Desire, you will not last the night.”  
Roshan knew it was right. The lust was clouding her mind again, and the incessant throbbing between her legs would not end. But the second pain, the more important pain, made it hard to focus on song. The only song her spirit wanted to sing was the bloody song of rage and retribution.  
“Rage.”, she said, pushing herself to stand straight. “If I let you in, will you swear you will not leave me? You will have me, but you will not have my baby.”  
“I’m your Rage. Not his.” Rage said. “I grew from bad luck, injustice, arbitrariness and hurt. You have nurtured me under your heart for much longer than your child has grown on Titan’s blood. I was always part of you. That part which suffered quietly under your despair, sloth and fear.”  
Roshan looked at the ever-dark sky above Garden of Dreams. She knew there was no time.  
“Never shall we submit.” she whispered, tasting blood in her mouth.  
“We will not.” her Rage promised, and Roshan took the burning hand it offered. The flames began to run over her skin, but they did not hurt. Strangely, she had never felt better.

\--

 _“Lethanavir, master-scryer, be our guide,_  
_through shapeless worlds and airless skies.”_

 

The old prayer called Falon’Din through the winding paths, and the path he chose ended in a dark garden where all flowers and trees were different shades of black and white.  
“Quickly, Falon’Din. There is no more time. Give me the lighting and hide.” Roshan said. She was dressed in a leather armor and she had a quiver on her shoulder, but no bow.  
“But charging it—“, Falon’Din began as he took the lighting jar and gave it to Roshan. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong.  
“Go!” she said, and before he knew it, she _pushed_ him backwards with magic. Falon’Din landed in a bush on the opposite side of pond. He laid on his back, feeling the soreness in his stomach. It had been some time since he had felt a blow like that.

He was standing up, trying fervently to think what to do when he felt the change in the air around them.  
“Sweet one.” he heard a voice behind the trees. “I did not think I would find you standing still.”  
Falon’Din peeked behind a tree. He saw a man standing with Roshan. His magic was dark and quiet, reminding Falon’Din of a hungering shadow.  
“Why are you so surprised, after all you have done?” Roshan asked harshly. “You raped my husband and baited me with his tears. You cursed me with desire. Twice. You tortured me for whole day, and left me in your garden, and now my baby is going to die.”  
In the faint moonlight, Roshan smiled at the Emperor, and her lips pulled back to reveal teeth.  
“It is only natural that I burn for you, now.”  
The Emperor opened his mouth to answer, but the words never came. Because Elgar’nan’s lighting was shining in Roshan’s hands, feeding on her rage and feeding her magic in turn.  
“If you think that you alone can—“, the Emperor began.  
“That is your miscalculation. I never said that I was going to kill you alone.” Roshan said and sent a blast of fire at him. It hit the Emperor, but absorbed into his barriers. He grinned savagely and pulled dark forms from the ground. Roshan simply smirked at him and a ring of Fire spread around them, leaving Emperor’s shades on other side of towering flames.  
The Emperor heard steps behind him and turned. He saw a man standing behind him, holding a staff of ancient design. He was tall and pale, and there was death in his eyes.  
“You never should have touched my brother.” Falon’Din said.

They harried the Emperor without mercy. Falon’Din met him a spell for spell, and those he could not counteract, Roshan simply burned through. She fought furiously, wielding Elgar’nan’s lightning like bladed staff. And finally Falon’Din spied an opening in the Emperor’s shields.  
“Now, sister.”, he called out, sending all he got against the Emperor’s barrier.  
She swung the staff in her hand, slamming it on the ground, and lightning cracked down on the Emperor.

The Emperor shone with pure white light, and his mouth was wide open. He crackled and trembled, and finally fell down on the ground. As Falon’Din got there, he could still feel a tiny spark of life remaining in charred body. With utter look of disgust, Falon’Din lifted his fine Tevinter-made boot and kicked Emperor’s face in. The spark died down, and Falon’Din shook his head.  
“Rot in Void.” he spat.  
He turned to look at Roshan, who was kneeling on one knee, leaning on the ruined staff for support. Her face was downcast, and there were tiny tendrils of steam rising in the air.  
“Roshie?” he asked, feeling alarmed. Father’s lighting was spent, and she should be fine, now. “Roshie, are you all right?  
Roshan looked up. Her eyes were no longer blue. They shone crimson. First cracks of red were starting to open on her hands holding the blackened staff. The steam was coming from her.  
“I am Rage.”, a disembodied voice replied.

 


	22. The hero of the hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Falon'Din does not suffer an upstart demon.

“You are a Rage? Oh, no, you are not.” Falon’Din shook his head indignantly.   
Rage made hissing noises at him. Falon’Din narrowed his eyes.   
“Do even you know who I am? If you think that some upstart demon can possess my sister-in-law right in front of my nose, you are sorely mistaken. Get out. _Now_.”   
“I swore I would never leave her.”, the creature hissed.  
It summoned down a huge column of swirling flame on Falon’Din. The Garden of Dreams was lit by a statue of fire ten meters high, and the trees nearby burst into flames. The fire began to spread, and soon the lindens were glowing with orange and red. Falon’Din walked out from the fire, unharmed. He looked seriously pissed off as he stared at the abomination wearing Roshan’s body.   
“You Rage demons are fucking idiots! You just summoned every single soldier in the area right upon us with your inferno! “  
A dark energy swirled around his right hand as he towered over the demon.   
“I said get out!” Falon’Din snarled, thrusting his hand at Roshan chest and then inside it, right through the spell-knit form June had created. Because if Falon’Din knew one thing, he knew where person’s heart was located inside body. Gripping the spirit of Rage, he yanked it violently. The demon must have taken root some time ago, because their separation didn’t come easily. Falon’Din could feel something ripping inside her as he wrenched the demon out. Roshan collapsed on the ground.

Falon’Din threw Rage on the ground, feeling furious. His brother raped. Roshie turning into abomination. What she had said about baby dying? He was fed up with this fucking place.   
“I could help you to burn it.”, the demon suggested in crackling voice. It was still trying, wasn’t it?  
Falon’Din took his staff in both hands and impaled the blade right through the creature’s head.   
“Good riddance.” he cursed as the demon dissolved.   
The staff blade was stuck in the ground, and as Falon’Din yanked it out, he thought he saw a movement from the corner of his eye. He turned his head slowly towards the charred corpse of Imperial Bastard and looked through the shroud of his magic.

Fuck it. Thin green sparkles were concentrating on Emperor’s spinal cord, starting slowly to spread to neural pathways of his body. The bastard was regenerating himself. Quickly, Falon’Din severed the head from the body and kicked it into pond. But it was only a delay.   
“Roshie.”, Falon’Din called urgently.   
She stirred, groaning as she opened her eyes. She looked terrible, like death warmed over, but her eyes were her own blue again. It was clear that she was hurt, and his vision told that the baby wasn’t doing great, either. There was blood coming from her mouth.   
“Did we win?” Roshan asked weakly.  
“Well, that depends. Do you know where they keep Dirthamen?”  
“Yes. It’s a tower in western side of the garden.”  
“And the baby?”  
The anguish on her face was all the answer he needed.   
“He’s not dead yet.” Falon’Din said firmly. He pulled a small crystal dangling on golden chain from his pocket and twisted the lock. It only took a moment before the rose glow appeared.   
“Mother. Tell father to start killing people for a return trip and activate my runes on the altar. We’re coming home now. Roshan is in labour and everything is fucked up.”  
Falon’Din didn’t wait for an answer. He cut the call and looked at Roshan. Raising his finger, he said:   
“This is the last time I’m carrying you, all right? We’ll get Dirthamen and go home.”  
“But the spell.” Roshan tried to say, but her words were cut short by her stomach turning stone hard.  
“How did you think I got here? I had no fancy artefacts. We’ll go back the same way, within next fifteen minutes.”  
He scooped his sister in his arms and started to run towards west.

\--

 

Dirthamen stood by the window and watched the dark trees moving in the wind on other side of the gorge. The scenery was still, unchanging. Slowly, he fisted his hand, and unclenched it again when pain became sharp enough. The palm of his left hand was already pierced by half-circles, and he had moved to right. The monotone of movement gave him something to do. The little he could do.

The furniture in round room was in shambles. One could break surprisingly much, even without magic. His fingers were torn and bloody from trying to break the girdle. He had known it was futile to begin with, but he could not to try. The Girdle of Imprisonment took whatever magic he used, stole it, and stored it for the Emperor. He was not going to let the bastard turn it against his wife. The Emperor would have loved it; to take what was Dirthamen’s signature and twist it until what was meant to love, comfort and hold her would only to be associated with hurt.

She always said he felt like daffodil fluff. To him, her magic was fresh and green. It smelled like pines and flowers and all living things, with a bit of raw Fade thrown in. Breathing it in made him always feel lightheaded, in the best meaning of the word. It made him feel young and foolish and in love.

All of it would wither away before morning. He looked at the dwarven water-clock, the only thing in room which was still whole, and closed his eyes. The level of water inside glass pipe marked with moon was three quarters empty. Dirthamen had watched, and waited, and his wait was almost over.

The silence inside his prison was broken by the sound coming from lower levels. He could not make out the words, but the deep rumbling of the dwarves was clear enough even through the stone floors. He waited with baited breath. It could be change of guards, or it could be the Emperor. He sincerely hoped it was the Emperor, even though he dreaded it, too. He did not think he could bear it if her torture was stretched for years, when he couldn’t truly bear a single night. Centuries? Eons? How long the Emperor could amuse himself with his Roshan? A long time, his mind whispered. Or it was likely that she had been driven mad, her mind shattered by the curse.

It was not the guards nor the Emperor, he realized. They were sounds of fighting. He heard a battle cry shouted with deep voice, a charge of fighters in heavy armor and then a series of bloodthirsty screams, suddenly cut short. Pushing the door open, Dirthamen ran downstairs.

 

The room on lower level was littered with dwarven corpses. The table and chairs had been pushed aside, and Dirthamen saw the Emperor – no, his brother drawing a series of complicated symbols on the floor with fresh blood. Roshan was sitting on the middle of the circle, her face twisted in pain.   
“Brother! Stop staring and grab a dwarf. I need to get this done before the Emperor rises from the dead again.” Falon’Din ordered hurriedly. “Basic Fade Breach, empowered to ninth degree. We’re going home _now_.”  
“The Emperor is dead?”, Dirthamen asked as he sank his fingers deep into gaping wound on warrior’s neck and pulled them out, red. “I draw the symbols, you start the chant. I can’t work magic with this cursed thing on me.”  
“I said I would kill him.” Roshan tried to grin, but it turned into a grimace.  
There was a sound of outer door being opened in next room.   
“Guards? Guards? Secure the prisoner!” Renn’s voice shouted from the corridor.  
Roshan cast a spell, invoking a wall of force between them and dwarves. Her eyes were closed, and she coughed. The line of blood running from the corner of her mouth was starting to turn frothy. Then Dirthamen heard a chiming sound coming from his brother’s pocket.   
“Draw faster. The blood pool is ready and I’m starting now.” Falon’Din snapped at him, turning his attention to spell.   
Dirthamen drew hurriedly the symbol of Ages and the Dead Tree, finishing the circle.   
“What happened, gaidhalas?” he asked as he lifted Roshan up in his arms.   
“A spider demon stomped on me and my waters broke. Then I turned into abomination. And killed the Emperor. But Rage wouldn’t leave, so Falon’Din had to rip it out.” she replied weakly, trying to smile.   
“Please tell you are joking.” Dirthamen pleaded as he held her up and wrapped his free arm tightly around Falon’Din. Even though he couldn’t cast, he could feel the power building up.   
Just as Roshan’s wall broke, Falon’Din finished the spell with defiant gesture. Dirthamen felt his brother starting to be pulled away by unseen force, and he hang on to Falon’Din for his dear life, holding Roshan tightly against his chest as they were swept away into space between place and time.

 

**\-- Falon’Din’s palace at Halamshiral --**

 

Elgar'nan took a firm grip from the girdle and pulled it towards himself. He pushed a blade between Dirthamen’s skin and the metal, starting to saw.   
“It’s a good thing Senris had stashed all my good weapons away from temple robbers during the Veil fiasco. The knife still cuts through everything, just like promised.” Elgar’nan said as he forced the knife slowly through the edge of belt. “The skin looks infected.”   
“Yes, yes, tell me something I don’t know.” Dirthamen said heatedly. “Can’t you break it any faster?”  
“Your mother has things under control, and Falon’Din is watching your mother.” Elgar’nan replied calmly, taking his time sawing through the metal. “You already know how babies are born, and I will not let you through that door wearing unknown hostile magical artefact. Becoming a father does not mean you can stop obeying your own father.”  
There was a knock on the door.   
“My lord? Exalted Council and Tevinter ambassador wish to petition you.” a voice called from other side.   
“Father, Senris is _not_ coming in here.” Dirthamen growled. It was bad enough to bend over a table with his robe pushed up to his shoulders when father was there, but he was not going to show his bare ass to whole world. The Emperor had not believed it necessary to supply his prisoner with underwear.  
Elgar’nan heard the edge in his son’s voice. Based on his long experience with war and imprisonment, a particular arrangement of bruises on his daughter-in-law’s face and now the tell-tale chart of bruises, scratches and bite marks on his son’s back, Elgar’nan had pieced out a likely scenario. But it was none of his business. Dirthamen was a grown man and perfectly capable of killing his own enemies. If he wanted to talk, he had a wife for that.   
“Tell my daughter-in-law’s pet shemlen and the rest of Exalted Shems to go to Void, Senris.” Elgar’nan raised his voice enough to be heard. Politics. Falon’Din should deal with his shems now he was back.   
“Very well, my lord. I will inform them of your order and see them off in all haste.” a deadpan answer came through the door.   
“You know I didn’t mean it like that. Not the literal Void, Senris. Figurative Void.”  
“It is not for me to guess intent of your commands, my lord. I merely obey. But I will tell them to go to _figurative_ Void.”  
Footsteps took off and vanished towards south.   
“I can’t believe you still put up with him.” Dirthamen shook his head. “Fear and Deceit would never dare to talk back to me like that.”  
“You have mindless thralls while I have Senris. That’s why my life is ordered while yours is a chaos.” Elgar’nan pointed out the obvious. “Like now. If he hadn’t pointed it out, I might have sent the shems to Void. They would have come back crazier than Andruil, with all sorts of trouble, and then I would have had to deal with that.”   
A ghostly visage of Mythal floated through the wall.   
“Mother?” Dirthamen looked at her, with pang of worry in his heart.  
“A little boy. Bit on a small side, but a fine lad. Your brother is there with them.” Mythal remarked. She looked almost gentle.  
Elgar’nan put the knife on table. He gripped the both ends of the girdle and wrenched. The metal twisted, breaking into two. He bent the left part outwards, and Dirthamen wiggled out of it.   
“Now, off you go.” he said, and watched his son dashing towards the northern door.   
“Young ones.” Mythal chuckled, shaking her head.  
“It’s their privilege.” Elgar’nan said, feeling warm and mellow.

 

The moment Dirthamen saw her, he knew something had gone wrong. Her red hair was plastered to her face with sweat, but when he touched her skin, it was cold and clammy. The hand cupping protectively around baby’s head caught his notice next. Her fingernails were bluish, and she was very pale. He knew the signs. Haemorrhage.   
“How much blood she lost?” he turned to Falon’Din.  
Falon’Din cleared his throat, not eager to answer.   
“The blood loss wasn’t the problem.” his twin finally replied. “It was the baby. He was too small. Not really ready yet to survive on his own.”  
“And?” Dirthamen asked, his voice too neutral.  
“Blood magic. The umbilical cord was still there, so it was merely a matter of transferring some of her life force to strengthen baby until he started to breath on his own. With the damage she already took when I expelled the abomination, she is going to feel like shit when she wakes up. ”  
Slowly, carefully Dirthamen lifted her hand aside to look at the baby. He was indeed very small. His tiny ears were still a bit coiled like new birch leaves; a typical sign of taking form prematurely. The sprit caught by their magic of creation could not yet control the body it inhabited. There was an amulet around his neck; it shone soft blue of mother’s magic.   
“It was really bad, Dirth.” Falon’Din said suddenly. “He was opening his mouth like tiny fish, trying to get air but couldn’t make the corporeal form work yet, and Roshan screamed at me to do something, anything. Mother started balking orders at me, with that death glare of hers. And when he started to get bit better but Roshan was turning too quiet, I warned her I had to cut it. But she dug her nails into my hand and told me to go on, and mother just nodded and asked if I hadn’t heard what Roshie said, that she had to stabilize the baby first. Mother put the amulet on and charged it, and he began breathing on his own but her heart started skipping beats. The baby began to screech, I cut the spell and she fainted.”  
“Are you tired from making all that noise, da’len?” Dirthamen asked, gently lifting the baby up. The baby opened his eyes a fraction; for just long enough for Dirthamen to see they were still blueberry blue and therefore unsettled on colour. Dirthamen held him, letting him rest against his chest. His son’s feet didn’t even reach his waistline. So small. New, yet familiar. He hummed quietly under his breath, drawing on his power. He touched the little one with magic, repeating unspoken messages of emotion which infant could identify even though words didn’t mean anything to him yet; it’s me, da’len. Everything is all right now.   
“I don’t know how you can do this.” Falon’Din said, looking at them. “They both are too fragile. Terrifyingly so.”  
“All love is fragile, brother.” Dirthamen answered quietly, holding his firstborn. His purple eyes were luminous with dreams as he looked at Falon’Din. “Thank you for saving mine.”

 

Roshan thought this felt like the time she had been accidentally crushed by flying boulder. And killed by Falon’Din’s blood magic ritual. Her limbs were heavy, and all she wanted to do was to sleep. But the voices were insistent. Someone was screeching into her ear, and there was his voice, too, warm and laughing. His magic still felt like daffodil fluff.   
“Wake up.”, Dirthamen said in singsong voice. “Wake up, Roshan.”  
Grudgingly, she opened her eyes even though she was too tired. She was met by a small red face, all scrunched up in teary rage, and much amused Dirthamen who held the baby. Their son sounded like a furious nug. Except nugs did not commonly wear magic amulets. The glow was making him look sparkly. Dorian would have appreciated it.   
“He simply wasn’t going to be entertained by any of my tricks a moment longer.” Dirthamen apologized as he transferred the baby to his left arm and glanced at her shirt. His eyes shone purple and the buttons on her bodice popped open.   
“Show-off.”, she shook her head weakly.  
That magic trick met the baby’s approval. Infant stopped crying and began to open and close his mouth when Dirthamen put him on the bed. Roshan decided their son wasn't a squealing nug after all, but a hungry dracolisk on hunt, moving his head from one side to another in search for milk. She winced as the baby latched on. It hurt. But everything hurt right now.   
“How do you feel?” Dirthamen asked.  
“Battered.” she admitted.   
“I told you to hide and wait until you could return home.” Dirthamen said. “It was an order.”  
“Good thing I’m not worshipping you, then.” Roshan flashed him a tired smile. “As I recall, I originally picked Falon’Din, and he had no qualms about my plan to save you. Neither did your parents.”  
“You took a terrible, needless risk. You risked yourself, our son, my brother and my immortality. You endangered four lives.” Dirthamen said solemnly. He meant it.   
“Like I told Fen’Harel, dying is the easy part compared what comes before it. I read the reports of Emperor, and he was even worse than I thought. I would not leave you with him to be scarred for rest of your existence.” she said stubbornly. “I will never leave you behind.”  
Dirthamen looked at his wife. He had seen better-looking corpses than she was at the moment, and his son seemed equally oblivious to accepting constructive criticism or orders. But they were both alive, while the Emperor was dead. It had to count for something.   
“We _will_ continue this discussion when we all feel a bit better.” he threatened as he climbed into bed.   
“Are you angry?” Roshan whispered as Dirthamen put his arm around her and the baby.  
“No, gaidhalas.” he said. Feeling bile rising in his throat as he thought of past months, he admitted:   
“You were right about being scarred. But still I disagree on principle. This could have ended much worse.”  
Her eyes were sad and understanding when she looked at him.   
“I know, vhenan.”  
She attempted to move her hand to brush his face, but the baby fell on his back without support. He let out an angry wail for interrupted meal, screaming as milk ran from the corner of his tiny mouth.   
“I’ll fix it.”, Dirthamen promised. He rose on his knees, helping her to turn around and then positioning the baby between them. His son looked offended as he latched on again.   
“You could give him few pointers about being silent.” Roshan said, looking pained. “The noise is making my head explode and he sounds like a furious nug.”  
“He really does.” Dirthamen agreed. “Father admires it immensely. He insisted on taking the next turn so he can show the baby to Senris and gloat.”  
“What next turn?”  
“This needs to stay charged and working.” Dirthamen said, touching the amulet. “For breathing and temperature control, keeping his spirit connected to Fade and… At this point, basically everything. Until he grows a bit. We’ve worked out a rotation for empowering the spell between four of us.”  
“Ah.” Roshan said in tiny voice.  
“It will be all right.” he promised.  
Uncertainly, his hand hovered over her brow. Kissing her would have been fastest way to fix her headache and hurts, but the Emperor…  
“Gaidhalas.”, he whispered. “I’d heal you but I can’t kiss you just yet. Not the way I’d want to.”  
“I don’t think I can, either.” she said, and something in her voice told him what he didn’t want to know. She sounded a bit too hollow. She sounded like he felt.   
“Did he...” he had to ask.   
“What you saw was the second time.” Roshan said simply. “But you took the brunt of his torments.”  
He felt the fragility inside him replaced with bright flame of anger as he cast a healing spell, moving his hands above her body.  
“Was it his doing? The baby coming too early? Possession you mentioned?”  
“I think the baby was combination of everything that has happened. There is much to tell.” she replied, sounding tired. “As for kisses… I think we’ll get back there. Eventually.”  
“I imagine we will.” Dirthamen agreed. He pressed his chin on the top of her head and they held each other, quietly listening the puffing breaths of their baby.

 

 

In another room of Winter Palace, a broken girdle of gold laid on a table, forgotten. First, the metal started to darken. A black stain ran across the runes carved on gold, spreading slowly until the faint shimmer was all gone. The shadow started to rose from it, until there was a black shade in a shape of a man sitting on the table. The shade grew more detailed with each passing moment, until it held a shape of an elvhen man.

The Emperor smiled as he looked around the room. The air felt so... refreshing, thick with magic. Like it had been before Fen’Harel and his Veil. Oh, he could already tell this change of scenery would cheer him up to no end. He would have to wrestle the spell for traveling like this from his Shadow before consuming him. Because why to stop taking his Reflection, when he could have his Shadow, too?  
And the woman, the Emperor reminded himself sternly. He would take care of her, first. It was one thing to be beaten in a fight by one’s own parallel, but to be killed by a mortal woman with no special talent at all? It was utterly humiliating. Not something a god like him could let go unpunished. He would make an example of her.  
He flung his legs on the floor, making few adjustments on his form. A handsome male elf, naturally, but with sun-kissed skin and shorter hair. And the eyes. They could be brown this time. The outfit – his Shadow had worn a quite good-looking but odd costume with only one sleeve. It must be fashionable here, so he would have that. Yes.  
Now he needed only a one thing more to get him started in this interesting new world. A pawn.

As soon as he pushed the door open, the Emperor saw a handsome human man leaning against the wall.   
“Finally!” the man huffed. “Would you tell me if it’s true that they have come back?”  
“It depends on who they are, and who asks.” the Emperor replied interestedly. The shem wore a similar outfit with only one sleeve, except his was black. His skin was olive, and he had fine moustache.   
“Magister Dorian Pavus, Tevinter ambassador participating to Exalted Council here. And what’s more important, I’m the best friend of Inquisitor Roshan Lavellan.”, the man informed.   
“She has returned, yes.” the Emperor allowed. “I like your outfit.”  
“You do?” Dorian asked. “I like yours, too.”  
There was definite spark of interest in his appreciating gaze as he admired Emperor’s fine form. The Emperor allowed it graciously. The man was pleasing to eye, and if the bit about him being Roshan’s best friend was true, it would serve the Emperor nicely.   
“Now that you have the information you wanted, you could show me the way to your quarters here. I would very much like to kiss you.” the Emperor said smoothly.  
The man’s eyes sparkled, and he smiled.  
“Straight to business, aren’t you?” he asked. “Why not? I like a man who knows what he wants.”  
“In that case, you will absolutely love me.”, the Emperor told to Dorian Pavus.


	23. Humans and elves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The recent changes among Evanuris cause political tension between elves and humans. Mythal discusses parenting methods with Roshan.

“This is an outrage!”, Divine Victoria’s voice rang clear from the walls of Winter Palace as she hurried after Falon’Din, her heels clicking against the marble floors.  
“I already told you I had nothing to do with it.”, Falon’Din replied as he kept walking.  
“A whole Tower of Magi, _confiscated_? The whole southern part of Lake Calenhad suddenly drying off by a mountain range rising from the bottom of lake on Haven-Lothering latitude? All in a single night?” Divine Victoria shook a parchment in her fist. “The Crown of Ferelden is furious. The villagers of Redcliffe has suddenly lost one of their main trades when the lake dried, and they have appealed to Chantry and Crown for help. And my mages! Kinloch Hold belongs to Chantry.”  
The elvhen guards opened double doors for Falon’Din to walk through. Divine Victoria followed at his heels, willing to get her opinion heard. She was stopped at the door.  
“Let me through! We are not finished, Falon’Din.” she raised her voice louder than was usually advisable in court, but this was a serious matter. She could not lose face in front of her followers or the members of Exalted Council.  
Falon’Din turned towards her, looking at Divine and the party of Chantry mothers and Templars who accompanied her.  
“Halamshiral is not responsible for whatever happened in Ferelden, and as the ruler of Dales, I see no reason to grant a hearing for Andrastian Chantry concerning this particular issue.” Falon’Din announced with authority.  
Divine Victoria considered her options.  
“If there is not going to be a formal discussion between the Chantry and Halamshiral, I request a private discussion on the matter between Divine and the king of Dales.” she said firmly.  
“Granted.”, Falon’Din nodded and turned his back again, vanishing up the stairs. Vivienne wanted to curse for him making her run after her like this, but it was better than nothing.  
“Wait here.” she told to her entourage and passed through the doors leading to Royal Wing. The elvhen guards closed the way behind her.

“Maker, I’ve missed you.” Falon’Din stretched his muscles, admiring the naked woman in his bed. Well, not entirely naked. Vivienne wore her signature horned hat and nothing else.  
“You have?” Vivienne asked, feeling secretly flattered.  
“Wasn’t it obvious?” Falon’Din arched his eyebrows. “And you missed me too.”  
“I did not.” Vivienne denied, her mouth curving into a smile.  
“You did.” Falon’Din chuckled. “Why else would you hide my favourite horns under that horrible hat? You know they turn me on.”  
“I do.”, Vivienne admitted, allowing herself to mellow for a moment. “I’m pleased to see you back from your travels. Wherever they were.”  
But there was more present issue which required Divine Victoria’s urgent attention, and with small regret, she pushed Vivienne back, assuming the mantle of Divine.  
“I need to know what happened to Lake Calenhad. I know you said it wasn’t your doing, but surely you know who is responsible.” Vivienne requested.  
“Of course I do.”, Falon’Din nodded. “But if you seek answers, it would be better to approach my brother. The waters of what you call Lake Calenhad held a special meaning for those wishing for insight from Keeper of Secrets.”  
Considering, he added:  
“Also, if I were you, I would wait for a letter from Kirkwall before you approach him. It is highly unlikely my brother will grant you an audience at all, and he will certainly not do it twice.”  
She did not like what he said about Kirkwall. But Falon’Din would not tell her more, so it was fruitless to ask. Since last summer, he had become extremely close-mouthed about anything concerning his brother and then vanished without a warning for weeks while Elgar’nan resided in Halamshiral. Sudden, unexpected chances in balance of power were never good.  
“Where we can find him?” Vivienne asked as she pulled her ceremonial robes over her head. “Is he still with the Inquisitor? If we approach her instead?”  
“Let me put it this way. Officially the Inquisitor died over two years ago, so getting an audience with her is even more unlikely than getting audience with Keeper of Secrets who may or may not walk on Thedas. Tarasyl’an Tel’as is empty and I doubt you are willing to go to Dirthamen’s temple to petition him. But if you and maybe some other former friends of Inquisitor were to approach guards on Royal Wing with a purpose of congratulating my brother’s wife for birth of their son, you might be allowed in, and my brother would certainly be present for occasion.”, Falon’Din advised.  
“Ah. I know a merchant in Val Royeaux who sells charming glass rattles, filled with pearls.” Vivienne nodded, well pleased with herself and her efforts.

\--

At first, Roshan did not truly understand it. She drifted in and out of Fade, and waking hours mixed with night seamlessly. When she woke up, she didn’t know if it was night or day, and it hardly mattered. She saw Elgar’nan or Falon’Din or Mythal standing beside her bed, their eyes shining with the glow which made them Evanuris, and baby’s amulet became hot to touch. She glanced at them, so very tired, put her baby on breast and fell asleep again. Or it was Dirthamen, whose magic sank into her flesh and bones as he pulled her tightly against himself.

It was only after she felt better when she saw how small he really was. Under the layers of silk and thick wool, the baby was thin enough to count his ribs. And it made her feel terrified.  
“He isn’t even nearly a size of a baby nug. Leliana was raising pet nugs, and she once made me to hold one.” Roshan said to Dirthamen. “He is more like a fennec, starved to death. Or maybe a large rat.”  
Dirthamen clicked his tongue disapprovingly.  
“Oh, but your mamae is wrong. You aren’t a rat or a starved fennec, you are a big da’len. You already weigh six large apples on Uncle’s treasury scale.” he cooed to the infant. The baby looked at him, eyes focusing on his face.  
“Next week, it’ll be at least _seven_ apples.” Dirthamen smiled irresistibly, and the baby blinked owlishly at him. “And when you get to ten, papae will take you home.”  
Roshan looked at them and at the amulet shining around their son’s neck.  
“If you think he is big now, how much did he weight when he was born?” she asked from Dirthamen.  
“Four and half.” he replied, and his eyes were serious.

 A new event was added to weekly family dinner. Roshan would have thought it silly if she had been outsider in situation, but now she was waiting nervously when a well-dressed old elf marked with newly made vallaslin of Falon’Din brought a scale and put it down on the end of the table. Another servant, who had Dirthamen’s vallaslin, carried a golden tray filled with most identical apples Roshan had ever seen. At first, she thought they were decoys but when the servant lowered her burden on the table, Roshan could smell the fresh scent. There were differences in colour and shape, but someone must have gone through a whole orchid to find ten of similar weight. 

The Evanuris sat on sides of a table set for six, while their most favoured servants stood behind them. The back of the room was filled with more attendants and Falon’Din’s courtiers, making it more like public ceremony than a private dinner. Clearly knowing that every last person in the room was watching, Dirthamen turned to Roshan and gave her a small nod. Feeling anxious, she offered him the baby she held in her arms.  
With trained ease – if their audience only knew how many times he had asked if she was sure she hadn’t given birth to shapeshifted octopus who deeply resented any and all sleeves on garments – Dirthamen undressed the baby and placed him on pan. The baby didn’t like the cold metal. His face scrunched up, and he started to cry. The noise was thin and high-pitched, but there was no mistaking his tears of fury. He still sounded like a nug when he was angry, Roshan thought, and she couldn’t say whether it was terribly embarrassing or just adorable.

Elgar’nan was leaning his left elbow against table, his fisted hand suspiciously hiding half of his mouth, but there was no mistaking the amusement twinkling of his eyes. Falon’Din developed a sudden cough, and lifted a napkin on his mouth before he was able to stop. Mythal looked merely interested, and Dirthamen simply ignored Falon’Din’s coughing as he took first apple and placed it on second pan. The sudden movement distracted the baby, and he stopped flailing.

Roshan counted the apples in her mind as Dirthamen placed them on the pan with calculated gestures of master of ceremony. When the scale still remained unbalanced after fifth apple and adding sixth still didn’t bring the pans even, Dirthamen considered the tray and then took seventh apple in his hand. When the scale didn’t push apples higher than the baby but on even level, Roshan felt like she finally could breathe. The baby was growing. She still felt like she had failed him with not being able to carry him long enough, but maybe, just maybe, he was not going to die.  
She gathered his clothes from table, still feeling her heart race but slower now. The baby was getting displeased again and upon noticing Roshan, he started to make little squealing noises and turning his head restlessly from one side to other. In her two weeks’ experience, it meant he had smelled milk. Roshan smiled at him and was just going to lift her baby up, when Dirthamen put his hand on hers to stop her.  
“The scale isn’t balanced yet.” he said.  
He took one apple and cut it to half with quick slash. His most optimistic prediction for this week had been seven apples, Roshan remembered, and she could see the hidden hope in his eyes as Dirthamen placed the half on pan. The scale stopped and she could see it now; the mark for balance was perfectly even.

She didn’t know who started clapping, but the silence was suddenly broken by clapping of hands, cheering and grins from the elves standing in the room. Dirthamen looked at her, and there was no mistaking the sheer pride on his face. Without thinking, Roshan put her arms around his neck and kissed him, because she was just so _happy_. Only when crowd got suddenly much louder and there were _whistles,_ she realized what she had just done. Oh, fenedhis lasa. She had no intention – he had said he could not – Roshan started to pull back, but Dirthamen didn’t let him. Instead, he slipped one hand in her hair, cupping the back of her head, while another sneaked on her bottom, and kissed her back. It was lovely and slow, and nothing like the Emperor.

The public part of dinner done, Falon’Din’s guards ushered the audience out. The baby was dressed again, and Roshan nursed him while listening the discussion on table.  
“Seven and half apples. Soon he’ll reach the weight of a baby nug”, Falon’Din remarked. His eyes sparked with evil glee as he continued: “You should call him Nuglet.”  
Dirthamen glanced frostily at his brother.  
“We’ve been thinking of Shielan.” he said in dignified manner. “He has already wandered further than most people do in their whole lives.”  
“You can’t deny that he does sound a bit like nuglet.” Elgar’nan said, the corners of his mouth twitching.  
“The squeals for milk and that screaming… ”, Mythal mused, shaking her head amusedly. “I believe once I met the pet nug Hero of Ferelden gave to his lover. It was called Schmooples.”

After that discussion, the name was hopelessly stuck. Even though Roshan and Dirthamen named him Shielan, the Evanuris called him Nuglet. The first time Dirthamen found himself accidentally calling his son Nuglet, he cursed colourfully and then told Fear and Deceit start composing a list of names. When Falon’Din would have his first child, Dirthamen would be ready.

 --

 

It took some time, but finally Divine Victoria had established a diplomatic party which would not be denied an entry to Lavellan.

“The Inquisitor is alive? Why nobody has told me this before!” Cassandra demanded.  
“The Inquisitor Lavellan is dead after judgement passed on her by Exalted Council two years ago. The official purpose of this visit is to congratulate our old friend from Inquisition for birth of her son.” Vivienne said in even tones.  
“Ugh.”, Cassandra made disgruntled sound. “And why we are pretending this has nothing to do with the fact that there are spider monsters patrolling around Sundermount and the elves have stolen Fereldan Tower of Magi if we are going to demand answers for those?”  
“That, my good Seeker, is called diplomacy.” Dorian said.  
“I never was any good at it.”, Cullen said uncomfortably, fingering the collar of his Inquisition uniform.  
“But why all this pretence?” Cassandra was still unhappy.  
“Because if we go there demanding answers, we will likely get none. Last time I met Lavellan, Dirthamen’s goons didn’t even give me a chair. They stole my shoes because I didn’t rank high enough in their eyes, and that was _before_ she married their god and had a baby with him.”, Dorian said. “They’ll never let us near their Druast’asha for an official visit. She’s been here for over two weeks now, and almost every elf expressly denies the fact if asked.”  
“How did you know it, then?” Vivienne asked interestedly.  
“I can be very charming.” Dorian flashed a smile.  
Deciding to follow that train of information later, Vivienne donned a mask of Divine Victoria and turned to address her companions.  
“I know we have had disagreements, but you all are faithful Andrastians. And you cannot be blind to current state of our faith.” Vivienne weighed her words. “All greater powers have been but annihilated. Rivain still stands, and Tevinter for most part, but the south is in ruins. The vast majority of those who worshipped the Maker and upheld the words of Andraste, are _dead_. Mages and templars remain, but the Inquisition and the Chantry failed to protect people of Thedas from the Fall and sudden influx of demons. The Fall which was caused by a mage much like our host, the current king of Dales.”  
“But aren’t you two... involved?” Cassandra asked, frowning.  
“I have never been blind to dangers of magic, no matter what form they come in.”, Vivienne’s answer was clipped. “For last year, I’ve had Falon’Din’s army of Dreamers waiting behind the walls of Val Royeaux for an order to annex Orlais completely. And I believe the only reason he has not given the order yet is that his attention has been taken by some family business he refuses to explain to me. Whatever hold I have over him, it merely means I might get a piece of advice every now and then, and he agrees to host meetings of Exalted Council and hear the human representatives. Whether he truly hears, or cares, is another matter entirely. And Falon’Din is still the only one who we can actually talk to. For the rest of them, we do not exist.”  
“I spoke with a templar who was at Kinloch Hold.”, Cullen said. “He told that week before the attack, there were whispers in their dreams. Voices telling them to leave, and even giving them a date. Some of weaker mages tried to, but they were stopped. Then the day came, and one of templars returning from late night at Spoiled Princess noticed that the level of water was rising. And it kept rising.”  
“Yes.” Vivienne nodded. “The water of Lake Calenhad rose until it reached the doorstep of Kinloch Hold, and then an elf arrived in form of a raven. She told my templars and mages that the tower has been confiscated, and they must leave. Naturally, they did not. She simply nodded and turned into a bird. The water outside tower kept rising, but it did not as much as trickle through door or windows, I was told. It did not response to spells or Templar abilities, either. Finally, when the level of water reached the top of the tower, the templars broke the ceiling and told everyone to leave. Not many mages were able to swim because the Knight-Commander of Circle Tower had been forced to stop any swimming lessons after Ander’s escapades, and the boats they had, had floated away.”  
“Oh, Maker.” Dorian groaned, and Cassandra looked angry. Cullen was muttering words of the Chant under his breath.  
“This is what we are facing now.” Vivienne told them. “There are monstrous spiders patrolling in Kirkwall, no water at Redcliffe, and I want answers for my dead.”  
She opened an ornate wooden box on table and took out a glass rattle filled with pearls of different colours.  
“If this is the route we have to take, we will take it.”, Divine Victoria said, and nobody spoke against her.

\--

On that day, it was Mythal’s turn to attend Nuglet. Dirthamen was napping in another room while Roshan tried to read an archaic treatise on creating soul anchors and calm the fussy baby. Those two things did not go very well together. Even though Abelas had drilled her in flowery turns of phrase so typical to ancient elvish as a part of preparing her to enact Mythal’s will (the date curse), Roshan’s vocabulary on advanced magic terminology was not that good, and Nuglet having a bad day was not helping.  
“You should just let him cry. If you react to every little thing, he’ll grow up spoiled.” Mythal advised.  
Roshan glared at her as she picked her baby up and put the book away, starting to walk back and forth in the room. Nuglet’s whimpering quieted and he closed his eyes.  
“If you think I will fall for your ‘tough mothering’-ploy, you are mistaken.” Roshan sniffed. “Even though Morrigan did not have much good to say about you, your sons loved you.”  
“And look how that ended. My daughters grew up much more independent and did not need nearly as much guidance. So take a leaf from my book: if you go on like that, you’ll be doing it for a long time.” Mythal remarked, taking a comfortable position in armchair. Her form was a bit misty on the edges, incorporeal but solid enough to touch. Not that Roshan wanted to. Now that she was not haunted by her fears of baby fading away physically, there was another danger already hovering on the horizon, and she was running out of time to solve it. There was two months and twenty-four days left to be exact.  
“I will promise I will not lift a finger to sooth him if you steal his body.” Roshan said, wrapping her arms around Nuglet. She would never give him up.  
“You would not? How cold hearted of you, girl.” Mythal looked at her with ironic smile. “But if I wept?”  
“I wouldn’t hear it, because I’d be already dead, and you would be, too. I made no deals with you.” Roshan told her harshly.  
“But you could.” Mythal said. “I usually offer two options for people coming to kill me. We fight, and I kill them. If I die, I simply respawn somewhere else again. Or we negotiate another kind of agreement, which profits both parties.”  
“Last time I made a deal with you, I found your price a bit steep.” Roshan replied.  
“A servitude of two years for knowledge required to save the world as you knew it? I would call it quite good deal. Most of my sentinels served much longer yet got less. And if you hadn’t drunk from the Well, we would not have your precious Nuglet, either.” Mythal argued.  
Roshan looked at the baby, then at Mythal.  
“You did not.” she said slowly.  
“That is what Elgar’nan said when I told him, too.” the old woman cackled. “Sometimes the people need a little push. And I was quite certain that my boy would rise to challenge. Mysterious and dramatic curses are his thing, as young people say, and nature took care of the rest.”  
Roshan was speechless. Mythal laughed.  
“Didn’t you think all that thundering about reckoning which would shake very heavens, daggers through heart and fierce love was a bit outrageous for something which was essentially an arranged meet-up and introduction? You were not wrong to call it dating curse. Didn’t you ever wonder why you started dying without having sex as soon as my son got a crush on you? It all went rather swimmingly, I think.” Mythal said smugly.  
“You confound me. I can’t think what to say.” Roshan sat down, feeling unwell. She was not certain if Mythal lied or not, or did it even matter. The whole idea was so.. Gah!  
“I’ve been told that I have that kind of effect on people.” Mythal said airily. “Now I need only to fix Falon’Din and make up my mind about choosing a host body. As I said, if you raise your son like I did mine, you’ll find out that mother’s work is never done.”

She was still shocked when Dirthamen came to room, his hair tousled with sleep.  
“Is everything all right, Roshan?” he asked. “You look odd. What did you do, mother?”  
“I? I did nothing. We were talking about raising children. I gave her tips.” Mythal said.  
Dirthamen gave his mother a sideways look.  
“No need to look so suspicious, dear lad. Why don’t you go back to sleep? We only just got started.” Mythal suggested sweetly.  
“I’m certainly not going to sleep after that.” Dirthamen said. “Actually, I was woken up because there is a group of shemlen at the door. They say they are your old friends from Inquisition, coming to congratulate you for the baby. Pavus is there, as well as Divine Victoria and two others.”  
“Divine Victoria?” Mythal said with interest. “The one who Falon’Din pines after? I’d like to meet her.”  
Roshan let out a hysterical giggle.  
“Bring them in.”, she said, ignoring Dirthamen’s searching look. “I have to see this.”

The mood changed abruptly as soon as her visitors entered the room.  
“Cassandra! Cullen!” Roshan was pleasantly surprised. They had never been her closest friends, not like Vivienne or Dorian, but they had worked by her side for three years in Inquisition.  
“No word for me?” Dorian asked with a smile.  
“I’m always pleased to see you. And Divine Victoria.”, Roshan took Dorian’s hands in hers to greet him. “What brings you all here?”  
Dorian was going to answer, but Cassandra cut in first:  
“We came to ask you why Solas’ elves are drowning innocent people, destroying whole villages and creating spider demons.”  
Roshan blinked, sitting back down on her chair.  
“I don’t know what you mean—“  
“They are not Solas’ people but mine.” Dirthamen replied coolly. He sat on armchair with Nuglet, looking every inch an Evanuris. “I’m simply taking back what was stolen from me while I slept.”  
“Kinloch Hold belongs to Chantry.” Vivienne straightened herself, looking frozenly at Dirthamen. “We demand that you return it to Faith at once, and return the lake to its original condition.”  
“Actually, Kinloch Hold was originally Tevinter building.” Dorian cleared his throat.  
“I have no interest in your Tower. But the lake is mine. As a gesture of mercy, I gave your people a week to flee and divided the area instead of destroying Redcliffe. If your mages and templars did not take my warning, it is their responsibility.” Dirthamen said.  
“What about Sundermount, then? There are varterrals!” Cullen exclaimed.  
“Then you should not go there, should you?” Dirthamen asked. He stood up at his full height and said: “This audience is over. You had the answers you looked for, and you will not have more. Be grateful for that. Guards, see them out.”  
As Falon’Din’s soldiers grabbed her guests’ arms and started leading them out, an astonished Roshan met Mythal’s gaze. The older woman gave her a tiny shake of her head as they listened Cassandra’s yelled threats, Vivienne’s protests and Dirthamen’s unapproachable silence. He was unmoving like a statue as he held Nuglet, and there was aloof look in his eye Roshan did not like.

They would need to have a talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the last one of daily updates as my vacation ended, and we return to regular Saturdays & irregular extras-schedule.


	24. Two options

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mythal considers her options.

When she fell asleep that night, Roshan found herself standing by the dark waters of Lake Calenhad, and Dirthamen was waiting for her. He wore a long hooded cloak which was eerily familiar from statues she had seen during Inquisition, and held a staff in his hand. It was one she had never seen in waking world. The weapon was made from black wood and the surface was carved with images of different animals. Birds, mostly. She thought she saw ravens, and a bear near the bottom.   
“Look.”, he said, and the white crystal on the top of the staff lit up. Wherever light touched, the Fade changed. There was an eluvian standing on the docks, and several groups of elves walking back and forth through it. But the viewing angle was odd. Even though she stood on the beach, close enough to breach the line between shadows and light if she held out her arm, Roshan saw the lit parts like she was looking from above. And then she understood. Of course. Birds. He was watching through eyes of birds.  
Each of the elves carried two or more buckets. They filled it with water from the lake and then vanished through eluvian. The tower of Magi was silent and dark in the background, seemingly forsaken.   
“You did not want the Tower?” she asked from Dirthamen.   
“What they had there is mostly uninteresting, with few exceptions. But their books and artefacts serve well as a favour for those new to I.”, Dirthamen replied. “Since magic has returned to all of you People, now, many of them have a need for small secrets, which Kinloch Hold will be able to supply. This will be a place of learning for them, as well as for I. I don’t expect to gleam much from their offerings, but one never knows.”  
Looking at elves’ labour, he added:   
“But truly, I was mostly after the water.”  
“Why?”  
“I will show you.”  
Dirthamen pointed the light towards eluvian. The elven workers vanished in shadows, and the surface of eluvian came alive with cool, white glow. He walked through the mirror and Roshan followed.

She did not expect to come face to face with a giant spider _thing_. It was monstrous and huge creature standing on five legs, with two long arms ending in four clawed fingers. It had a gaping mouth of deep red and odd, grey skin which looked like petrified bark, and it was running towards them with lightning speed.  
With panic, Roshan seized her magic, clawing at the edges of her dream. She would wake up now. Wake up. The Fade around her rippled, and she could almost see the faint outlines of the room, already hear the quick breaths of Shielan in the crook of her arm and Dirthamen’s steady breathing behind her back but then she was pulled under again. She fought against it, but the force pulling her back was too strong, and Roshan found herself in the darkness with giant spider. It was making whiney noises at Dirthamen while her husband petted its head with obvious fondness.   
“I know it’s been a very long time, little one.” Dirthamen said as he scratched the rocky flesh under monster’s chin. The huge spider made another sad noise, sounding nothing like anything Roshan had ever heard. It was like wind whistling on high mountains, or raindrops falling on ground, but Dirthamen seemed to understand.   
“It was not your fault. You were loyal. You stood your ground even when the People left.” he said. “I brought you someone new. Come here, Roshan. I want you to meet my first varterral, the guardian of my city.”

Roshan did not want to do it, but Dirthamen was unyielding.   
“You need to hold out your hand, so it can smell your blood.”  
“It sounds like a terrible idea.” she said, fighting panic. “Do you know what happened last time I met a monstrous spider? It stomped me, causing a premature labour.”  
“Varterral recognizes people by their scent. It will know you then. They are remarkable creatures. Very loyal.” Dirthamen argued.  
“You said the same thing about bears!”  
“Gaidhalas. ”  
The varterral watched them, looking like an anxious little dog wanting to please it’s master. It had laid down on the floor, attempting to look as nonthreatening as possible.   
“All right. But if I lose my left hand again, it’s your fault.” Roshan stuck out her hand to varterral.  
The monster sniffed her hand, and let out a series of windy noises. It sounded like...  
“Dirthamen. Has your varterral ever met a human lord calling himself Trifles Minutiae?”   
The varterral jumped up, made more windy noises and stroke the ground viciously, pretending to hunt an imagined enemy.   
“Oh.”, Roshan said. “I think I like you after all. That creep had a habit of appearing in my bedroom closet at Skyhold and asking whether I was ready for Quizquisition.”

Roshan decided she had been wrong about varterral. Even though it looked suspiciously like a spider, it wasn’t furry and icky at all. It had only two black eyes, on different sides of its head and the strange rocklike skin under her hands felt quite nice and warm.   
“Your idea of Fade dates is interesting.” she said to Dirthamen as they sat on varterral’s back. The creature was climbing up a mountain. Dirthamen had one arm around her waist and another held staff, which cast a light on a rocky mountain path. The elves she had seen earlier were carrying the water up.   
“Why to take you somewhere you have already seen?” he asked. “It would hardly be interesting.”  
“Where are we going, then?” Roshan was curious. “Is it—Oh, I know what it is.”  
“Do you?” he chuckled.   
“There is a story in Dalish lore about a city in mountains, beloved by Dirthamen. A high dragon settled in the mountains, and her hunger threatened the city....”, Roshan’s voice took the familiar rhythm of Keeper, repeating the words she had been taught when she was nothing but a slip of a girl, newly come to her magic.

The Dalish legend told that Dirthamen’s city had crumbled into dust. It was true. On the top of the mountain, there was no city. Only ruins.   
“There used to be a conservatory where my devotees studied the songs of magic. They had catalogued thousands of living beings ranging from smallest animals to individual elvhen.” Dirthamen pointed at the completely collapsed pile of stones on the left. “There was a garden on the right, where flowers gathered from all corners of the world bloomed, and the night was heavy with their scents. There were lanterns on the trees, and they lit up as children ran there, playing.”  
“I would have liked to see it.”, Roshan said wistfully.   
“You will.” he said unexpectedly. “Look.”  
He lit up his staff again, and in the eerie light, she could see an elf holding a bucket of water. The elf poured it on the ground, and when the water splashed on soil, it formed a glowing rune shining for a moment before it faded away. The elf looked at it with wide eyes clearly seeing something they did not. He brought forth his magic and began to weave a spell.   
Dirthamen held the staff higher. All around them, there were elves calling magic from the wet earth. Roshan could see the groundworks for several buildings being made.   
“It will not be the same, but they see what was here once, and what the city could become once again.” Dirthamen told her. “The water grants insight, a single grain at the time. And thus those who are most determined to seek for wisdom, will reap the greatest rewards. This will be a good place to raise our son.”  


\--

“I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye.” Roshan said into crystal glowing around her neck. “You were already gone when I woke up.”  
“Yes, that was not most gracious ending to proceedings of Exalted Council. Being thrown out from your room I might understand, but I was somewhat surprised when it became clear that those guards were intent on throwing us out from the Dales as well. Luckily, I had someone who kindly looked after my belongings and packed them for me.”, Dorian’s voice chuckled.   
“You don’t seem very upset.” Roshan remarked with surprise.  
“Oh, I’ve been thrown out from best houses in Minrathous in my day. That’s how you know you have become someone in Tevinter. You aren’t really important until someone feels bothered enough to order your removal from the premises. Vivienne, on other hand, was positively furious. You’d better not to open any gifts coming from her.”, Dorian advised.   
“I don’t think I’ve gotten any.”  
“Oh, I bet you have. The absence simply means your security works.” he said. “Look, if you can spare time from Evanuris business, come to Tevinter. There is someone I’d like you to meet.”  
“What kind of someone?” Roshan asked curiously. “A special someone?”  
“Might be.” Dorian said, and she could almost see the foolish grin on his face. “It’s a bit early to say, but I really like him. The sex is absolutely magical and he has all these ideas on how to gain political power in Magisterium.”  
“I’m so happy for you!” Roshan couldn’t help but smile. “Oh, Dorian, I’d be glad to come and meet you and your friend.”  
“When can you come, then? I need to prepare my humble abode and whip the Magisterium into obedience before your arrival.”  
“I don’t know.” she admitted. “I’m trying to solve a difficult problem and no matter how hard I try, I can’t figure out a solution.”  
“What kind of problem?” Dorian’s voice grew serious.   
“My mother-in-law wants to steal my baby for her new vessel in two months, and she has put a geas on Dirthamen and Falon’Din. We already tried to run away once, but it did not work out. I’m running out of options on what to do. And I can’t ask from Dirthamen, because then she would know.” Roshan said miserably.   
Dorian let out a breath, and the crystal was silent for a moment.   
“With all respect, friend, your taste in men is atrocious. Have you ever considered having happy and healthy relationship? With someone who isn’t Evanuris? A relationship where your man doesn’t want to destroy the world or to steal his own child to become a vessel for his mother?”  
“He doesn’t want to do it.”  
“Of course not. Just like Solas didn’t want to destroy our world, but he did it anyway. Listen. I’ll look into archives and ask around. Keep searching, and I’ll search here, and one of us is bound to find something. There must be things ancient elves don’t know. Just promise me you won’t do anything stupid before you hear from me again. I’d hate to find out you got killed again.” Dorian said lightly.  
“I promise.” Roshan sighed.  
When she closed the communication crystal and turned to pick up Nuglet who had awakened, her heart was heavy. She needed a miracle, and she didn’t even know where to start looking.

But she was not only person thinking about it. It was Elgar’nan, who finally breached the silence on family dinner six weeks before Mythal’s deadline. It had been his turn to maintain the spell today, and three of them had made a trip to his palace to show Nuglet the nursery. Elgar’nan claimed it was a work in process, but in Roshan’s opinion, it was the most strange and most wonderful place she had ever seen. Everything there reacted to Nuglet, and what he did. When he looked at enchanted sky on the ceiling, clouds there began to change colours. The floor felt and smelled like grass, and probably tasted like it, too.   
“You should have seen him. His eyes were wide like plates and he couldn’t decide where to look first.” Roshan giggled. “And when I put him down on the grass, he grabbed some straws in his hand, probably by accident, and spent next two hours trying to figure out how to get it into his mouth.”  
Dirthamen smiled.   
“And you did it. That’s papae’s boy.” he tickled the infant. “I was wondering where you got your treasure.”  
“I’d be interested to see the oldest enchanted place built after the Veil.” Mythal remarked.  
Elgar’nan looked at her.   
“I’d be interested to know your plan about my grandson.” he said sharply. “Are you going to possess him or not?”  
A dead silence fell over the room, and smile vanished from Dirthamen’s face.   
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Mythal remarked. “I’m still considering. Even though I still feel Dirthamen needs to learn what I’ve been trying to teach him for years – not everyone can be saved - , the thought of spending years and years in infant’s body is not very exciting. And you had to have a boy, even though I prefer female vessel.”  
“What are you going to do, then?” Elgar’nan pushed.  
“My options are sadly lacking. Dirthamen cut off my sentinels from Well, and now I face a choice between possessing a scraggy infant or the most powerful human woman in current world.” Mythal said cheerfully. “Oh, my. What am I going to do? I still have six weeks left before I have to make up my mind.”

“Vivienne? She’s thinking of possessing Vivienne!” Roshan didn’t know if she was going to laugh or cry.   
“Mythal asked my files on her last week.” Dirthamen said as he strode along the corridor. “I believe she would enjoy playing the Divine of Chantry.”  
“It would be wonderful. But I don’t think… Vivienne would never agree.” Roshan’s smile fell.  
“Oh, she will.” Dirthamen stated with a grim smile. “I don’t need longer than two days to make her agree to anything and everything asked from her.”  
“Oh, no, you don’t!” Falon’Din cut in. He had ran after them, looking disturbed.   
“I don’t need your assistance. I have more than enough experience to deal with this on my own.” Dirthamen told him.  
“Brother, no! Viv would never agree willingly.”  
“While my son lacks even the concept of consenting.” Dirthamen replied. “Mother will not have him. She’ll need to settle with playing Divine Victoria.”  
Falon’Din opened and closed his mouth, unable to say what he had planned to say.   
“Fenedhis lasa!” he cursed instead, turned around, and almost ran towards his rooms.   
“He is going to try to save her, isn’t he?” Roshan asked.  
“More likely trying to make up his mind whether he fancies her, likes her or is in love with her.”, Dirthamen said shrewdly. “But I’m going to take a nap now and send orders to my agents in Grand Cathedral. Like Falon’Din says, you can always apologize afterwards.”  



	25. Promises made.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roshan worries about Mythal. A message beyond a grave arrives. Dirthamen and Roshan get help from old friend.

When Dirthamen told her that they would leave Halamshiral and take Nuglet home now, Roshan knew she had to do something. Even though she wanted to go home, she did not want it to happen because the twins were on separate sides of unannounced war and Dirthamen took it seriously enough to choose security of his own house over maintaining the schedule on Nuglet’s spell. He had reached the weight of ten apples, but they had planned to stay a bit longer just to be on safe side.

There was nothing for the baby when they arrived on the islet in middle of the sea, and Roshan realized that last time when she had been home, there had been no baby, or even a hint of one. The whole mess with Vir Abelasan, their escape and return had happened in Halamshiral. But children didn’t need much. The infants of her clan had survived on far less than what Dirthamen carried in a basket he had packed up at Halamshiral.

She waited until the night fell and Dirthamen’s steady breathing told her that he was fast asleep. It was unlikely that he would wake up any time soon, Roshan judged, considering that both twins were moving their forces to get Vivienne first. She shook her head and then carefully placed Nuglet into crook of his arm. Dirthamen always slept on quietly on his back, unmoving and in control even in his dreams, but she knew he would wake up if the baby needed anything. Quietly, she crawled out of bed and grabbed her cloak from a chair. Roshan put the garment over her nightgown and wrote a quick note. She left it on her pillow and slipped out from the room.

The Crossroads were quiet and blissfully empty of werewolves or unknown archers as she entered. Not willing to risk it, Roshan kept to shadows as she walked from one mirror to other. Running was, unfortunately, still beyond her. Even though Nuglet had been born five weeks ago, she still suffered some lingering ill effects from the whole mess. Falon’Din’s blood magic spell had done a number on her. She tired far more easily these days, and Nuglet at his current weight was about the limit she could lift without getting dizzy. It would pass, eventually, Dirthamen had said, but Roshan didn’t know if it would happen soon enough. They were running out of time.

But luck was on her side for once, and Roshan let out a breath of relief when she nodded at the guards standing by Elgar’nan’s mirror. She stepped through the eluvian, flinching at familiar cold sensation, and came face to face with Senris.   
“Senris. Is Elgar’nan still up? I must talk with him privately. Less people know I’m here, the better.”  
“I assure you, I do not allow overly chatty people to remain in my lord’s service.” Senris said coolly. “I’ll inform my lord of your arrival. He will meet you in the library. With all respect, you look ready to faint.”  
Roshan felt embarrassed, but she was too exhausted to argue when Senris took her arm and walked her to library. The walk from Halamshiral to Elgar’nan’s palace, even though nothing compared to distances she had crossed with Inquisition or her Clan, had been longer than anything she had done after Nuglet. When Senris made her sit down in a chair and told her to stay there, Roshan found it hard to believe she had ever been the woman who had survived Andruil’s hunt for weeks. Her field of vision was spinning in disturbing manner, so she closed her eyes for a moment and waited for Elgar’nan.

“Daughter. What brings you here?” Elgar’nan asked, and Roshan opened her eyes.  
“Your colour is terrible.” he told her frankly. “Senris said you didn’t have anyone with you. Why my son lets you to roam alone through Crossroads at this time of night? I thought he had more sense than that, even if you argued again.”  
“It’s more likely we’ll argue when I get back home and he notices I wasn’t there.” Roshan admitted. “But there is something I have to ask you, father. A serious question.”  
Elgar’nan considered it, and the expression on his face changed.   
“All right.” he gave her a nod.   
“Is Mythal mad? She is nothing like Solas’ stories, or what Dirthamen told me about her, or even the stories of my People. There is no justice. Just spite.” Roshan said, the words spilling out from her in a rush. “What kind of mother makes her sons choose between losing a child of one and girlfriend of other? It will end in a fight between Falon’Din and Dirthamen, in some way or another, and they’d have to live with consequences forever. It’s simply a cruel thing to do to force them to hurt each other. And I’m willing to bet that as soon as one of them has won, she will pick someone else as her vessel, and either Vivienne or my son will be lost for nothing. And what if we have more children? Will this just go on and on, forever?”  
Elgar’nan sighed. He looked old all the sudden, old and tired.   
“I knew Mythal. She was the best of us. But what we have now, the thing which calls herself Mythal, is nothing like my wife. It’s like seeing a demon or shadow wearing a familiar face. Familiar enough to let it close, and ignore the dagger it puts between your ribs because you don’t want to admit it would do something like that to you.”  
Roshan nodded quietly.   
“It could have been the spell Dirthamen used, or what she did to survive it, her long separation in a world of humans. But something in Mythal is irrevocably broken.” Elgar’nan said.   
“What are we going to do?” she asked helplessly.  
Elgar’nan leaned back in his chair and crossed his fingers. The sadness was gone, replaced by a calculating look, and Roshan had the uncomfortable feeling that he was playing cat and mouse with her. Damned Evanuris.   
“First man I ever killed had this saying: a man can have anything, if he is willing to sacrifice everything.” Elgar’nan said. “That piece of advice has never failed me yet. If I were you, daughter, I’d carefully consider what you want, and how much you are willing to pay for it.”  
“That was not helpful, father.” Roshan glared at him.  
“I would say that if a Dalish First comes to God of Vengeance and asks him what she should do, she already knows the answer she needs. I don’t think your People forgot that much.” he remarked shrewdly.   
“No, we did not forget that.” she admitted.  
  
\--

 

Her journey back home was uneventful, probably because Elgar’nan insisted on giving her guards.  
The house was quiet, and her family was still sleeping when Roshan stepped through the eluvian. She could not sleep, so she went to kitchen to make tea, but the kettle wasn’t there. Roshan frowned, looking through the cupboards before she remembered. Dirthamen had packed it when they left to another world. The kettle was buried in the ruins of Dumat’s Shrine, lost in Emperor’s attack. Her mouth tasted like a failure, and restlessly Roshan climbed up the stairs to roof, where her garden used to be. The plants were withered, and the pool Dirthamen had built was filled with fallen leaves and overgrown blood lotus.

Angrily, she knelt down and pressed her hands against the soil, letting her magic to burn the dead vegetation. This, at least, she could fix, even if she couldn’t fix anything else. It had seemed so simple there in another world. Save Dirthamen, because she could not bear to leave him behind, and the cost had not been something she had ever stopped to consider. But their attempt to save the baby had failed, and all those months living in a cave or as a dragon or as Emperor’s prisoner were in vain because the very thing they had ran from was still waiting for them. And Roshan was getting so fucking tired at fighting Mythal. This whole thing had already dragged for longer than war against Corypheus, and it was her fault. If she had not died, Dirthamen and Falon’Din would not be bound by Mythal’s geas.

If she did nothing now, how long it would go on? What it would be like when Nuglet grew up? If he grew up, and didn’t get possessed by his grandmother at age of three months. His ears were just getting uncoiled, and there was fuzz on his little head, too thin to make out a colour yet. What kind of unfair world this was, if a baby could be lost before anyone could tell if he had inherited his father’s eyes or not?

“It doesn’t have to happen that way. You don’t have to be weak.” a crackling voice spoke behind her.   
A burning spirit reflected on the surface of the pool.   
“Bad luck, injustice, arbitrariness and hurt. If you have no strength, it will never end.” Rage said.   
Roshan swallowed. Falon’Din had warned her about this. Violently interrupted possession left a person’s spirit scarred, and the scars drew spirits of similar type like a beacon. The damage could take centuries to heal. Even though she knew to be wary, she also remembered how she had felt with Rage. Not weak, not tired. She had been strong enough to kill the Emperor, and Mythal was no Emperor.   
“You would not have to fight alone.” the spirit said, floating closer to her. It came close enough that she could feel the heat of Rage on her face.   
“You are not alone.” an earnest voice spoke next to her, and Cole materialized from thin air. “I can help.”  
“Cole!” Roshan exclaimed with happiness. “I was worried about you! I thought you might not have survived the Veil.”  
She smiled widely, and Rage vanished, leaving only a familiar spirit and too large hat.   
“I have been needed elsewhere. Many people need help, but it’s easier now. More of them can see me.”, Cole said seriously. “I came to bring you something. Solas said that you might need it.”  
He took a small box, no larger than a palm of hand, from his pocket and offered it to Roshan.   
“Solas?” Roshan repeated.  
“He asked me to come, before Veil came down. He wanted you to know that he was not that kind of Wolf.” Cole said simply. “I promised to keep this for you, until you needed my help.”  
Roshan accepted the box. The latch was simple, but she felt the familiar feeling of his magic, the Fade magic, and it made her feel sad. Her feelings on Solas were conflicted, and would always be. She had loved him until her first death. She had hated what he did as Mythal’s slave, just like she had hated his voice in her mind, speaking the words she did not want to hear, but either of those things were not his fault. Roshan knew far too well what it meant to be bound to someone else’s will.   
Quietly, Roshan opened the box. It was filled with flowers. She recognized the species; they were from the garden she had grown in Skyhold. Carefully chosen, there was one of each herb. Elfroot from Hinterlands, Arbor Blessing from Emerald Graves, Embrium she had collected from Exalted Plains. By some miracle, or likely by magic, they were still alive. She turned the delicate Crystal Grace in her hands, and noticed it was ripe with seeds.   
“Oh, Solas.” she shook her head, blinking water from her eyes. “He gave me the formations of new garden.”  
“Yes, but there is more. Look deeper.” Cole said.  
Roshan felt something hard under Amrita Vein. She pulled out a rectangular, small piece of blue crystal.  
“It might be best if I woke up Dirthamen.” she said.

 

\--

“His song is old, and new. Stolen, but given.” Cole said, holding Nuglet. “Solas would have loved him.”  
“I doubt that.” Dirthamen muttered as he rummaged through a chest in observatory.  
“What is it?” Roshan asked, nodding towards the crystal he held.  
“A durgen’len memory crystal. During the war, durgen’len used memory crystals to rely information, but they also booby-trapped some and left them for our troops to find.” Dirthamen replied as he pulled a small round iron cage from the chest. “I do not want you to end up Tranquil or worse for listening whatever Wolf wanted to say. I don’t trust his intentions.”  
“It depends on whether the person who sent the message was Solas, or Solas serving Mythal.” Roshan said.   
She watched Dirthamen placing crystal inside iron cage. He measured two drops of quicksilver on the top of the cage and then took a step back.   
“Now, cast a spell on it.”, he advised Roshan. “The crystal has been tuned to your magic.”  
“Should you take Shielan to another room?” she asked from Cole. “If something goes wrong.”  
Cole looked at her and Dirthamen with thoughtful eyes and then nodded.   
“We go to garden and watch water sparkling on the pool until midday. It will help you.” Cole promised.  
“Until midday? It’s barely morning yet. How long message this can be?” Roshan frowned.   
“I will help you.” the spirit assured her and left with Nuglet.

When her magic touched the cage, the crystal inside began to glow. It cast a reflection in Dirthamen’s observatory. A Fade-green form of familiar man stood before them.   
“Vhenan. I don’t know if you will ever heard these words, if you will survive the burning of your world, but I wanted to tell you I’m sorry. “, the memory said. “If I could have told you not to drink from the Well, I would have. Slavery for the best of the Evanuris is slavery still, and I’ve found our mistress much changed since I woke up.”  
Unthinkingly, Roshan sought Dirthamen’s hand.   
“Today I’m going to imprison my brethren and bring back my world. Your world will burn. It pains me to do this, but there is no other option to set things right. My mistakes have had a grievous cost, and I fear you will pay the price for one of them. I need Mythal’s power to bring down the Veil, but it also means I once again do her bidding. The spell of imprisonment is not complete; Elgar’nan, Falon’Din and Dirthamen will go free because _she_ wishes it to be so. I fear what it might mean for you, vhenan. I have had no word from you since we met in Sheeran, and Keeper of Secrets stole you away when I attempted to free you from your bonds.”, the green reflection made his hands into fists. “I fear for you, vhenan. It was said that what was left from Dirthamen’s former lovers was not enough to fill a single jar in his temple.”  
“What?” Dirthamen snapped. “That is a lie! A blatant, atrocious lie!”  
“He would, naturally, deny the rumours if you asked from him. Just like he would deny the fact that he once chased down and seduced Xebenkeck, swore love for her for five hundred years, learned all her secrets and then turned her and the rest of her companions to Evanuris to be bound and banished. Your people know them as Forbidden Ones. Dirthamen is not a man you would want to give your heart to.” Solas warned her.  
By the furious look on his face, her husband was clearly considering whether to smash the crystal now or later, and Roshan fought urge to giggle.  
“This is very interesting, vhenan.” she said innocently, placing her hand on the cage to pause Solas’ monologue. “So your bardic pursuits went that far?”  
Composing himself, Dirthamen took a dignified look on his face and replied:   
“If it was necessary for the job, yes. Forbidden Ones were guilty of war crimes, abandoning the field.”  
“But how does one gain a heart of a desire demon?” Roshan asked with interest.   
“With meticulous planning and great attention to detail.” Dirthamen replied smoothly.  
“Care to give me an example?”  
“Roshan, are you flirting with me?”  
“No… It was just a mistake. I don’t want you to feel pressured.” she said quickly, cringing inwardly. Creators, she was an idiot who didn’t _think_. Not meeting his eyes, Roshan moved to continue with the memory crystal, but his hand over hers stopped the motion.   
“If you left it to me to judge whether I feel pressured or not, what would you say then?” Dirthamen queried in dark, velvety voice. His touch was light as he withdrew, setting his hand around her waist instead.   
“This is not a suggestion, more like... giving possibly relevant information?” she said uneasily. Roshan had no idea how to go on, and it was Emperor’s fault. Damn the bastard.   
“Go on.” Dirthamen said, opening the palm of his free hand in noncommittal gesture.   
“I’ve recovered from giving birth, I no longer feel like a whale and can finally see my own feet, we’ve not had any chance to be alone since Dumat’s shrine which was months ago, and Cole promised he’d entertain Nuglet until midday.”, Roshan said in a rush, purposefully ignoring the faint blush rising on her face. Creators, she felt awkward. It was worse than the time her brother had caught her kissing Tamlen in a mulberry bushes behind Keeper’s aravel. She’d been fourteen.   
Dirthamen did not answer, and Roshan crushed her disappointment. She would not be insensitive; she didn’t know what he had suffered, and she didn’t want to hurt him. They had time; he had said he was not ready, and the kiss had been clearly a mistake. She would not make another. Trying to be discreet, she stepped away from him and activated the memory crystal again. Solas’ frozen reflection began to talk:   
“Even though I can’t save you now, vhenan, I would not leave you on their mercy. The power corrupts, and I fear that Evanuris are unable to see any other path than try to regain what they had, once. Killing the first of my People is not easy; it will not save you or my new world. I would have done it myself, if I could.”  
She felt Dirthamen’s arm sneaking around her waist again.   
“But I will attempt to call you to me for last time, vhenan, and give you what need if you ever are called to walk Din’Anshiral and finish what I cannot. You know where I started mine; I’ve prepared the way for you. If fate is kind, you will never need it. But knowing what you face, I doubt.” Solas’ smile was sad. “You are courageous, my love, and I regret leaving you with this burden. But if there is life after death, or your spirit will be born again in another, better world, I swear will find you.”  
“Oh, you will not!” Dirthamen snarled. As the reflection stopped speaking, he made a fist, and the crystal shattered in hundred little shards.

“What did you do that for?” Roshan demanded.  
“Because I know what you are like! You barely sleep, trying to figure out a way to deal with mother, sneaking away alone in the middle of a night and leaving me without saying anything—“  
“You were asleep! I left you a note!”  
“Yes, a note which says: ‘I couldn’t sleep, going to see your father, coming back soon.’”, Dirthamen pulled the piece of paper from his pocket and waved it in front of her face. “If you wanted to go to Elgar’nan’s, why you have to do it in the middle of the night and alone? And if you are so upset you can’t sleep, why you can talk about it to my father but not me?”  
“Because she’s your mother, and you love her! I don’t want to hurt you.”  
“Oh, it would be better if you even once decided to hurt me instead of treating me like I was some glass figurine wrapped in cotton wool! I know you have already decided to walk the path of death because Solas told you to, and you think it’s the answer for the problem Mythal represents! It’s not called path of death for no reason! I know you, Roshan, and you’d be happy to do it because you would think you saved me and Shielan and my relationship with Falon’Din and everything!” Dirthamen roared.  
“Someone has to do something! Can’t you see she is playing with you? She will never stop. Mythal set you against Falon’Din, and you are hurting each other just because you don’t want to admit she has changed. It is not your fault, but you can’t close your eyes from the truth, either. If you let her continue, we all will get hurt. Either we lose Shielan, or Falon’Din loses Vivienne, and I don’t want you two to be driven apart by something you did to save me. You need Falon’Din!”  
“But I need you, too! What do you think it felt like to see you there, with Emperor? I thought you were safe! Only thing which kept me going was the knowledge that I was doing it for a reason, I was purposefully keeping him occupied to protect you, and then you endangered everything! If you want to protect me, you have to stop putting yourself in danger. I told you that I can’t have a relationship with a corpse, and even though you don’t want to die anymore, you are disastrous at protecting what means me the most. Yourself.” Dirthamen took a grip on her shoulders, looking Roshan in the eye.   
“If you truly love me, you need to stay here, with me. Do not walk Din’Anshiral. Find a solution with _me_ , instead of plotting with my family behind my back.” he pleaded.  
Roshan blinked, all anger bleeding out from her.   
“I’m sorry. But you were hurt because of me. I saved you too late, and I wanted to give you time to heal. Not to add to your hurt.” she said in tiny voice.   
“I’m not made from glass. And I’m not broken. I hurt, and I suffered, but it was not something which would break me. I know my limits. What hurts me is to see you treat me like this. You kissed me, and suddenly pulled away like I was blighted. You tell that you want me, and in next breath, you withdraw. I care what happened to you with him, because I hate him and I never want you to go through anything like that again, but not because I’d think you were tainted. Whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault, and what happened to me, wasn’t my fault either. But it hurts to see you flinch every time you touch me. Am I so tainted in your eyes now?” Dirthamen asked. There was vulnerable note in his voice, midst of anger.  
She shook her head fiercely.   
“Never.”, Roshan said resolutely. “You are my heart, and I love you. You are not tainted in my eyes, ever, in any way.”  
She pulled him closer, wrapping her arms tightly around him. He put his arms around her, too, and they held each other.   
“I need you to give me your word, Roshan. I swear mother will not have our son. I will come up with a plan to save him as well as Falon’Din, but I can’t do it if you don’t trust me. I need to know we are on same side, even if I have to ask hard things from you. The fiasco with Emperor cost too much for all three of us. Promise me you will not walk Din’Anshiral.” Dirthamen pleaded.  
“But what will we do if she uses the geas she put on you?” Roshan asked quietly.   
“We will find a way to deal with her. But together, gaidhalas. Don’t leave me. Not in mind, or in body. Don’t plot behind my back ever again. Even if it is for a noble purpose. I can’t bear it.”, Dirthamen said with heart-breaking honesty. “Not from you, of all people.”  
“I promise.” Roshan said, feeling tearful. “I won’t keep secrets from you. I can’t lose Shielan, but I promise I won’t do anything without telling you first. I won’t walk Din’Anshiral if there is anything else we can do.”  
“It will be all right, gaidhalas. I promise.” Dirthamen said, holding her so tight it almost hurt.

“We are getting better at arguing.” Roshan noticed as they sat on the window seat and drank tea in peace. Getting hot tea instead of magically re-heated, slightly bitter beverage was a rare treat, a courtesy of Cole who was still in the garden with Nuglet. “You didn’t lock yourself in bedroom like usually.”  
“If I did, you would probably take off somewhere and die.” Dirthamen pointed out. “I’ve found out that sulking is counter-intuitive tactic with you.”  
He took a sip from his cup and added:   
“And hearing Fen’Harel’s romantic promise about finding you in better world did not encourage me to leave you alone. Who knows what might have happened.”  
An odd look flickered on Roshan’s face and she studied the view from window with great interest. Dirthamen’s eyes narrowed.   
“Gaidhalas. You promised.” he warned.   
“Did you know that when you sent me away from Dumat’s shrine, the spell landed me near Skyhold? That world’s Skyhold?” she asked. “I found your crystal from a pocket and called Falon’Din because I didn’t know what else to do. Rebel elves found me next night, and because my story didn’t hold up, they took me to their fortress to be interrogated. The room was nice, but I only found out it was Solas’ after I woke up in the morning and he slept in the bed, too.”  
Dirthamen groaned.   
“And the rebels threw you out and Imperials caught you?”  
“No. They thought I was agent of Evanuris, and made a spirit of Truth to possess me so they could interrogate me. I got through it once, but when they decided to do it second time, I jumped from a balcony to my death. But Falon’Din caught me in time, so it went well in the end.” Roshan said lightly.   
“But how you ended up in Golden City?”  
“I don’t want to tell you.” Roshan shook her head. “And you don’t want to hear it.”  
“I do want to hear it.”, Dirthamen leaned forwards.   
“Can we agree that I will tell you everything when Cole comes back with Nuglet? It is likely that you would storm out, and I don’t want to waste the opportunity. Having a moment of peace is rare these days, and I’d prefer to take my time with you.” Roshan leaned to press a kiss on corner of his mouth.   
“I can agree to that.” Dirthamen said and kissed her back.  



	26. A gamble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Falon'Din and Dirthamen both attempt to protect those close to them from becoming Mythal's vessel. Their tactics differ as much as their results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the theme I usually listen when I write Elgar'nan's family dinners:  
> Emilie Autumn: Marry me  
> https://youtu.be/OBRTSsQR4zo
> 
> The soundtrack for fight scene:  
> The Darkness: I Believe In A Thing Called Love. https://youtu.be/tKjZuykKY1I
> 
> Inspiration for this chapter:  
> https://youtu.be/6gxOffgz6VI?t=1m12s and https://youtu.be/ehV3_GjBVw8?t=1h33m19s

“Remember what I told you.” Falon’Din said. “I know it is hard, but you must downplay the importance of Chantry. Appear indecisive, if you can. Mother dislikes people who can’t make up their minds.”  
“Like _I_ told you countless times before, I would never agree to let any kind of spirit possess me, and the prospect of your mother offering to make me into abomination is merely a side-effect which makes the offer even more uninteresting than most. I don’t understand why you fret so much. It is the most unbecoming look on a powerful man.”, Vivienne said coolly.  
“You need to take this seriously. After mother made her little possession remark, my brother took his family and left. We haven’t had any contact with Dirthamen for three weeks, and it is a bad sign. I just know he’s stalking in the Fade and making plans. Father had to send an envoy to Lake Calenhad to inform that he will no longer suffer them skipping family dinners.”  
“Naturally appearances must be kept, even though I would prefer if _you_ sent an envoy to Lake Calenhad to inform Dales do not support blatant thievery.”, Vivienne replied.  
Falon’Din suppressed the urge to groan. Viv just didn’t get it. If Dirthamen got his hands on her, she would beg to be possessed before sun went down. Breaking down and manipulating minds was the specialty of Dirthamen’s servants, and knowing the situation, he’d do it personally.  
“If you can make my father ignore you, it’s the best. Don’t say anything to draw his attention, and don’t look at him, either. Try to be meek and noncommittal for mother.” he advised as they got closer an open eluvian.  
“I don’t think so, dearest. If you finally after two years decide to introduce me to your parents, why you wish me to appear everything I am not?” Vivienne asked sharply.  
“Because I’d prefer if you didn’t die.” Falon’Din snapped.  
“You worry too much. I doubt that a dinner with Evanuris is any different than dining with Empress.” Vivienne remarked. “I am, after all, the most powerful woman in Southern Thedas. Likely in all Thedas.”  
“Viv, _please_.” Falon’Din pleaded with uncharacteristic honesty. “This might look like your Game, but with rules you don’t know. When Dirthamen brought Roshan here first time, father killed her in the bathroom between main course and dessert. And she had invitation; you don’t. Father only started to like Roshie after she rose from the dead and got back in time for dessert.”  
“Death is preferable to irrelevance, my dear. And you are still fussing over things which will not happen.”  
Drawing a breath, Falon’Din continued:  
“Focus on convincing my mother that she doesn’t want to possess you. If she thinks eight-weeks-old boy is a preferable host, you are safe and we can go back the way things were.”  
“I see.” Vivienne said slowly. “In terms of points, dearest, how much disadvantage I am starting with?”  
“You are from inferior race, a mortal, a representative of heretical faith, uninvited, too old to bear children – even though I’m not certain if father’s nursery obsession is stronger than his disdain towards humans – and a threat to Nuglet whom everyone adores. I’d say something like minus hundred points.” Falon’Din appraised.  
“I have triumphed worse odds when I was voted to become Divine.” Vivienne replied serenely.  
  
\--

“They are late.” Elgar’nan said critically to Mythal as servants set a table for six in sunny atrium. Winter was turning into a spring, and Elgar’nan had decided it was time to turn on the fountains on the yard and switch the room to his favourite one. His slaves had added a glass wall last night between the pillars, complete with heating spell, so Nuglet wouldn’t get cold.  
“I think Falon’Din is coming. I saw him at Halamshiral.” Mythal remarked.  
“I don’t care about Falon’Din coming. I want to see my little Nuglet.” Elgar’nan said sullenly. “It’s your fault that they have skipped last three times. I spoke with Dirthamen last night to threaten them into coming, and he said that Nuglet smiled for first time two days ago. I missed it because you and your idiotic possession plan.”  
“Continue whining, Elgar’nan, and I’ll smile to you through the boy’s eyes.” Mythal said sweetly.  
“Threatening me never ends well, Mythal. Our sons might respect you, but there is no room for two gods of Vengeance in this pantheon.” Elgar’nan warned. “If push comes to shove, I will triumph over you, darling. As I always do.”  
“You are even more annoying without option of angry sex.” Mythal glared at him.  
“Good.” Elgar’nan snapped. “Because so are you.”

 

“Where is Senris?” Falon’Din frowned when he stepped through the eluvian with Vivienne. Senris was always there to see who dared to enter Elgar’nan’s palace.  
“Our lord has told him to attend another task today.” one of the sentinels said. “You are expected in atrium, honoured one.”  
Falon’Din nodded, took Vivienne’s arm despite the stares people were giving them and began to walk. As soon as they got out from earshot, he said:  
“This isn’t good, Viv. Father is practically joined at hip with Senris, and the old guy is a stickler to routine. His absence means father is up to something.”  
“Maybe he is siding with your brother?” Vivienne asked shrewdly.  
“It’s almost certain he’s siding with Dirthamen.” Falon’Din said, looking like he had swallowed a lemon. “And time is running out. Mother has less than two weeks left to make her demand for me and Dirth, so it’s going to be today or the next Saturday.”  
“Do you have any information your brother’s whereabouts?”  
“My agents have seen sightings of him and Roshie at Crestwood. They visited a mine there. Few old paintings, but nothing particularly interesting. And Dirthamen’s people requested two of my mages to clean out the ghosts from Skyhold last week.” Falon’Din replied.  
“It was shrewd of you to agree. Insight to enemy actions is always an advantage.” Vivienne appreciated.  
“We are not enemies. He is my brother.” Falon’Din remarked firmly as they turned to corridor leading to atrium. When servants saw him approach, they opened the doors. Falon’Din waited, and whispered quickly to Vivienne:  
“About your elvish. Don’t use any of the phrases I taught you. They are all dirty enough to make a pleasure slave blush. I might have lied about meanings when you asked me to teach you elvish.”  
“How polite, then, that you remembered to mention it now.” Vivienne hissed back. “My elvish vocabulary includes five words not learned from you.“

“What is that creature doing here?” Elgar’nan’s face twisted in disgust. “Senris! Come and take it away at once! Haven’t I told you to keep the mongrels in your own palace, Falon’Din?”  
“I believe she is our son’s girlfriend, my sun.”, Mythal said, watching Vivienne with interest.  
“I grow tired with your endless baiting, woman. My son _would not_.” Elgar’nan hissed.  
“Sit down.” Falon’Din said to Vivienne in common, pointing at his accustomed seat on Mythal’s right. He moved on opposite side of a table, pulling out a chair for himself.  
“That is not your place.” Elgar’nan glared at him. “That chair is for my grandson.”  
“Who can’t sit yet.” Falon’Din glared back.  
“Ability to sit has nothing to do with right to be seated at my table.” Elgar’nan replied. “Take your own seat or get out.”  
“It’s occupied.” Falon’Din answered.  
“I don’t see anyone there.” Elgar’nan informed frostily. His eyes changed, taking a faint tinge of red, and the room was starting to get noticeably warmer.  
“If you keep insisting that your chair is occupied, it would mean there is a problem. We have six seats. For me and your mother, for your brother, his wife and my grandson and you. This is a family dinner, and I, as the head of this family, have invited no guests. If someone took your chair, it would mean there is a trespasser at my home. And then I would have to deal with it.”, he continued, watching Falon’Din.  
“I invited a guest. Vivienne.” Falon’Din said with far more confidence than he felt.  
“Vivienne who?” Mythal asked sweetly. “Is she your pet? Your servant? What is her role? I would know to address her properly.”  
“Vivienne, Madame de Fer. She is the Divine of Andrastian Chantry and my girlfriend.” Falon’Din held his chin high under scrutiny. He was fairly sure that Viv understood only bits and pieces from conversation, and it was probably a good thing. But upon hearing her name, she smiled at him, and Falon’Din felt something warm in his heart. He perished it quickly; last thing he needed now was father catching him smile like an idiot.  
“Girlfriend?” Elgar’nan repeated. The temperature in room rose for few degrees more. It was starting to feel uncomfortable.  
“Yes. Girlfriend, lover, whatever word you wish to use. I like her. We have a relationship, as you well know.” Falon’Din crossed his arms over his chest, ignoring the fact that he was starting to sweat. “I seem to recall that when you found out Dirthamen had a girlfriend, you invited her to dinner right away and threatened to set Andruil after them if they didn’t come voluntarily. I merely saved you the trouble of finding a replacement enforcer.”  
“I think we agreed to treat our sons equally, Elgar’nan.” Mythal remarked.  
“There is nothing similar between Roshan Lavellan and the mongrel Falon’Din brought here. Roshan is one of the People, a mage, and most importantly she had enough spunk to earn the right to court my son. After that, she killed the Wolf and broke her own chains of servitude. I’m proud to call her a daughter; she has earned her place in my family.”  
“Equal treatment, Elgar’nan.” Mythal repeated.  
“Very well. If our eldest son indeed brought a girlfriend to be introduced to us, I expect an immediate introduction, and then I shall proceed to treat her _in exact same manner_ I treated Roshan.” Elgar’nan said to Mythal. He turned to Falon’Din, and his eyes were shining with dark red.  
“Now tell me, son, do we need a seventh chair like your mother insists? Or did you bring a pet? Pets are kept on the floor and away from the dining room. We are People, not barbarians throwing bones to dogs scurrying under the table.”  
Falon’Din swallowed.  
“Mother?” he asked helplessly.  
If he said yes, father would kill Viv before dessert, and if he said no, he would judge Viv to be nothing but a glorified pet. And one did not love a pet. They were meaningless.  
“Answer to your father, Falon’Din.” Mythal said.  
He felt slightly ill, and his mouth was too dry to speak. Falon’Din reached for a glass of wine and his hand shook as he lifted it to his lips. Viv was watching him, and Falon’Din could see she was worried, a bit frightened, from the lines of her mouth. He knew the mask she wore so very well. The woman underneath it… Maybe she let him see more than most. He liked to think so, anyway.  
He looked at Viv, and finally found his voice:  
“My parents inquire after your role in this gathering. It is something we... never really talked about. I don’t know what to call you.” Falon’Din spoke in Common.  
“Tell them what you wish. As long as I’m not irrelevant.” Vivienne replied.  
“You are never irrelevant.” Falon’Din said truthfully. He felt something painful yet sweet aching in his chest, but he had no word for it. He looked at his father, who was still waiting, and her mother, who had a soft smile in her eyes, like Mythal knew something he did not.  
“Order your servants to bring another chair.” Falon’Din told Elgar’nan.

Servants were bringing in the first course, and Falon’Din had returned to his rightful seat. Servants had brought a chair to Vivienne, giving her a place on his left. Falon’Din couldn’t look at her. Her life, a bright yet fragile flame burned in the edge of his vision, and when he limply took a spoon in his hand, he wondered if her death would feel like petals falling between his fingers. Humans were different in a way of their passing. They didn’t linger at the gates of death, slumbering in endless dream.  
“Finally!” Elgar’nan exclaimed when the doors opened. Falon’Din looked up to see his brother striding through the doorway, looking furious. Roshan was running after him, taking three steps for his two. She held Nuglet in her arms, looking upset.  
“Dirthamen, please—“, she pleaded.  
Dirthamen ignored her. Instead of taking his usual seat opposite Elgar’nan, he stopped at Nuglet’s chair opposite Falon’Din and placed his hands on the back of the chair. His knuckles were white.  
“You.”, he spoke, glaring at Falon’Din. “My wife finally told me a half hour ago that you sold her to Eternal Emperor’s harem for twenty thousand gold sovereigns.”  
“Yes.” Falon’Din said.  
“I will kill you.” Dirthamen shouted and jumped over the table.

The impact of Dirthamen suddenly crashing against him was enough to send them both on the floor. Falon’Din’s chair hit the floor, and the sound of breaking glass and porcelain was deafening as tablecloth was pulled down with twins. Elgar’nan, Mythal and Vivienne who had been unfortunate enough to sit on that side of table, got soup on their laps. But what took the lion’s share of Falon’Din’s attention was his twin’s fist violently connecting with his nose. There was a disgusting, crunching noise inside his skull, and his vision bloomed red.  
“Aargh!” he screamed. “Let go of me, you oaf!”  
Dirthamen answered by slamming an electrocution spell through his shields and trying to choke him. The bastard! Falon’Din didn’t know when his brother had become so damned heavy. It used to be easier to fight him off.  
“Roshie! Stop feeding him!”, he yelled as he pushed his thumb in Dirthamen’s eye, making him release the death grip long enough for Falon’Din to get hold on his shields and send Dirthamen flying backwards.

Unfortunately, he didn’t stop to consider the other people in the room. Roshan, who was still holding Nuglet, jumped out of the way of flying Evanuris but her feet got caught by tablecloth. There was a loud boom and sparkles of magic filled the air when the strong barriers generated by Nuglet’s amulet hit the floor when they fell. Roshan didn’t stop, but crawled under the table holding Nuglet, and a magical, ranged shield which reeked of Fen’Harel’s magic rose like a swirling pillar through the wood. What little had remained on the table, was deflected from her shield. Cutlery, flowers and a lone bread basket were sent flying to all directions, and Falon’Din saw a fork sinking into Vivienne’s shoulder. Her shields sprang up again as she renewed the spell, but blood was running along her stylish dress. Making a howling noise, Falon’Din sent a Spirit Mark towards Roshan’s barrier, but Dirthamen was already up, and interrupted his spell with misdirection hex before it hit. Falon’Din’s mark strayed from original course and ended up hitting mother instead of Roshan’s shields. Mythal yelped as Falon’Din’s spell bit down. His brother who had started the whole mess didn’t stop there. Dirthamen jumped again, transforming into a swarm of insects in middle of the movement, and Falon’Din found himself being attacked by a cloud of bloodthirsty locusts.  
He yelled as the disgusting creatures burrowed in his ears, nostrils and eyes, bit down on the few which had managed to get in his mouth, and brought a fireball upon himself.  
“Ha! There you got it!”, he screamed as he and the swarm both vanished inside a bonfire burning in the middle of Elgar’nan’s atrium. Dirthamen changed his form again, as Falon’Din knew he was going to, and he promptly kicked the legs under his younger brother. But Dirth had expected it; he grabbed Falon’Din’s neck in a headlock and they both fell on the floor.

“You fucking cretins!” Elgar’nan’s furious roar overcame the screeching of frightened Nuglet coming under the table. The infant, unharmed as he was, had not liked the unexpected change of balance. God of Vengeance, who was still dripping soup and wine, grabbed Dirthamen by neck with one hand and Falon’Din with another. His father’s hold on his neck was not a gentle one, and Falon’Din cried out as Elgar’nan’s fingers dug into his flesh. He squirmed, trying to get away, but Elgar’nan was truly pissed now.  
“I’ve told you a thousand times. No fighting at the dinner!” he roared, and his magic flowed around him like an angry cloud. “And a new rule, you featherbrains. Keep your quarrels away from my grandson!”  
Falon’Din had barely time to scream as father hurled them both through the glass wall separating the atrium from front yard. But because he was Elgar’nan, who didn’t exactly shine on fine control when his temper got better of him, half of the room collapsed when twins broke the glass wall. Vivienne screamed as the floor suddenly vanished under her feet, but her voice was lost in a rumbling noise of falling stone.

Falon’Din hurt when he pushed himself up in father’s front yard. Dirthamen had landed few meters further on the left, but he was getting up, too. Unfortunately, he still looked murderous.  
“Can’t we just call it settled?” Falon’Din asked hopefully. “You are making terrible impression on Viv, and if you insist, I can share the profits from sale. What’s left of them, I mean. I had to spend some time in Golden City. It was expensive.”  
“You sold my wife to a harem!” Dirthamen was advancing on him again. Falon’Din retreated hastily, putting up his barriers again. From the corner of his eye, he could see Mythal floating towards them.  
“Mother is coming.” he tried. “You know she’s going to crack our heads together to calm us down. I really could live without headache, brother.”  
“I don’t care about your head!”  
“You really should work on your jealousy issues! It was the fastest way to get Roshan inside the palace.”  
“Yes, inside and noticed by the Emperor! You fucking idiot!” Dirthamen grabbed him and heaved Falon’Din into Elgar’nan’s fountain, jumping in after him.  
“Hey, at least Fen’Harel poking her ass with his dick was not my fault!” Falon’Din decided that shifting the blame was best way to save himself. “No wonder she was upset about it if you overreact like this!”  
“WHAT?”  
“I was very supportive: I told her that she should just let him, get information we needed and apologize you afterwards!” he yelled. “We saved you, you moron! You should be grateful, not to trash me! And you can’t really drown a person in a fountain where water doesn’t even reach my knees.”  
“Oh, just watch me, brother.” Dirthamen promised and dunked him under.

\--

Senris watched the spectacle going on his lord’s front yard and shook his head in disgust. What a mess. Mythal and Elgar’nan were both in the fountain, now, trying to separate their children before they actually killed each other, while Falon’Din’s shemlen was trying to fix her clothes while cursing. Most of the servants were glued to windows.  
“Lady Roshan, young lord. You may come out now.” Senris stated. “Everyone’s attention is directed to brawl in the front yard and I have directed the staff away from route we will use.”  
The greenish glow died down, and Roshan crawled out, holding Nuglet. Senris gave them an appraising look. No injuries, but that was not unexpected considering the sheer strength of magic in baby’s amulet. It seemed that his preparations had indeed been correct even though he had doubted when his lord had informed him of what size young lord’s clothes should be. At the age of two months, young lord Shielan was starting to look like proper, sturdy new-born baby. (Senris did not appreciate informal nicknames.)  
“We should hurry.” Senris said. “I have armour and weapons for you in eluvian chamber, and Compassion is waiting for us there.”  
“All right.” Roshan nodded. She glanced towards the yard, looking worried, but steeled herself and followed Senris promptly. Nuglet made a small unhappy noise as he grasped her hair with tiny fingers.  
“Hush, da’len.” Roshan whispered. “It’s all right. Mamae and papae are doing this to keep you safe.”

\--

 

The normal timing for Elgar’nan’s dinner was usually at noon. But when everyone was finally seated at the table, it was late afternoon and they all were worse for wear. Much to Falon’Din’s chagrin, mother had done just what he had predicted, and now he suffered a debilitating headache. It would take days, maybe a week, before he could cast even a simple spell. Even though Dirthamen had suffered the same treatment, his brother looked almost cheery as he sit alone on another side of the table. Wait a minute.  
“Where is Roshie?” Falon’Din asked.  
“I haven’t got a faintest idea.” Dirthamen replied as he blew into his soup, waiting it to cool down.  
“What do you mean?” Mythal asked, sounding annoyed.  
“Just what I told you, mother.” Dirthamen looked up. His expression was absolutely smug. “It appears that she disappeared during the fight, taking the baby with her, and I don’t know where they went. Since you so kindly trashed both me and Falon’Din, draining what little was left of our mana and making us unable to cast spells for a week, we can’t start looking for her even if you used the geas to command it.”  
He tasted his soup carefully, blowing again.  
“I’m afraid that my servants can’t help, either, even if I could fix the headache to contact them. I told everyone to take two weeks off and not to answer to any of my commands before the specified date, which just happens to be the day after your geas ends. It seems to me that you won’t possess my son after all, mother.” Dirthamen smiled sweetly.  
“Are you challenging me into a fight, Dirthamen?” Mythal asked dangerously.  
“No. I already won it.”, Dirthamen said with a smirk. His expression changed, hardened. “No matter how many times you tell me I can’t save everyone I love, I will never give in, mother. I will defend my own. Even if you failed and gave up on your family, it does not mean I’m doomed to do the same thing. You may try and plot and plan as much as you like, but you will never have my son. He is out of your reach, just like my wife.”  
“Congratulations.” Mythal said, looking at both Falon’Din and Dirthamen. “It seems that you both have finally grown up today.”  
Mythal stood up, watching them with strange little smile. She was almost… pleased.  
“But as long as the music plays, we dance.” she said to herself, chuckling under her breath. And then she vanished. As Mythal left, the smile vanished from Dirthamen’s face.  
“Stop worrying, son.” Elgar’nan commanded. “Even if she went after them, Senris knows what he is doing. Give him a week, and he has hidden his charges so well that you couldn’t find either of them even if you tried.”


	27. Mother and her children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mythal sets out for a hunt. She finds something bad.
> 
> Killing and keeping are two entirely different things.

Roshan Lavellan was not the first prey Mythal had hunted. But the girl tried, she had to give her that. It took five days to find the faint traces of Nuglet’s amulet – it was Mythal’s own magic, after all, and she knew what to look for – from Vimmark Mountains, near a blocked entrance to Deep Roads. Once she found the spot, she could still feel the faint tinge of Roshan’s fading presence. Even though the bond between them was broken, the scars remained on them both, and it made tracking her possible once she got a scent. Mythal’s magic told her that the baby wearing the amulet and his mother had risen from the Deep Roads here, camped for few hours, and left towards north. Using Deep Roads to hide from the eyes of Dirthamen’s birds was shrewd move. As Mythal searched the forsaken campsite, she found traces of a third companion with familiar footprints. Of course. It explained the trip to Deep Roads, and the fact they had managed to evade her so long. Elgar’nan had loaned Senris for this hunt. That old fox was a cunning one, and knew Mythal all too well.

Once she found their trail, completing her hunt was simply a matter of time. Fragments like Mythal did not need to sleep or eat, while babies required plenty of both, and frequent stops to tend their other needs. On eighth day, the trail led her to campsite little ways off a road leading to Minrathous. She could hear a sound of horses in a distance; it was not unusual near such a large city. It was curious place to hide; unexpected, Mythal mused. But one would not look for elves twice in a nation which still kept them as slaves. But when she floated closer, she saw something she had not expected. There was a small fire and Roshan sat on a log, holding an amulet in her hands. There was no baby, and no sign of Senris.  
“We’ve been expecting you.” a voice said in her ear, and Compassion held a knife at her throat.

Roshan was not surprised when Cole appeared from woods, escorting a familiar woman who had proud stance and ornate armour.  
“Good evening, daughter.” Mythal greeted her.  
“Mother.” she nodded.  
“I wouldn’t have taken you as one who would leave her baby behind so soon.” Mythal remarked.  
“My son needs to live far more than he needs me.”, Roshan said. “And since you are here, the bait worked. It is all that matters.”  
The look on Mythal’s face was almost gentle, motherly, as she looked at Roshan’s defiance.  
“One’s destiny is not so easily avoided, girl.” she said. “I already have what I needed. You or your child were never in any danger from me.”  
Roshan did not understand. She held the amulet in limp hands, her breasts still swollen with milk and hurting from the absence of her child. It had been eight days since she had given her son to Senris and left on her separate way with Cole, carrying the amulet with her to draw any pursuers after them. She was worried on how her baby was coping without the magic which had kept him alive so far or if Senris had found someone to feed Nuglet; at the same time she felt ready to scream at thought of some other woman nursing her baby. And now Mythal said it had all been in vain.  
“ _Why?”_ she demanded.  
Mythal crossed the distance between them and sat on the log next to her.  
“You have seen what our family is like. If nobody keeps them in order, my husband and sons would likely destroy the world, just like Solas feared. They hold power too casually, and the consequences mean too little. They need someone with enough courage to tell them when they act like foolish men they are, and that person must command enough respect to be heard. I can’t be that person anymore, and it has been clear for some time that you have inherited the job.”  
“So you are going to possess me instead?”  
Mythal laughed.  
“I think it would make your marriage rather awkward, wouldn’t it?” she chuckled. “No. I’ve finished what I set out to do. When my time comes, I’m content to end it. Dirthamen has learned his lesson. He confronted me about it just before I left, and Falon’Din is progressing quite well. His character was much improved by your little rescue operation. He has grown fond of you, fond enough to care about someone else than his brother. He was always the slow learner of the two. I imagine it might take some years before he realizes he is in love with Divine Victoria. He knows it in some level, but can’t quite put a name to what he feels. It’s still quite stretch for my self-centred little boy.”  
“I’m not certain if I believe you.” Roshan said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Why would you go through all this trouble and set up a ridiculously elaborate scheme just to teach your children a lesson?”  
“Believing has hardly ever been necessary.” Mythal remarked. “You didn’t believe you were sent by Andraste, but you were made her Herald anyway. Truth does not matter, if other people let their belief guide them. Much like you and my sons believed I would actually go through with my threat.”  
The older woman smirked, adding:  
“I could say that my younger son’s admiration to proper drama might be a hereditary trait.”  
“You can’t say that we weren’t right to beware of you carrying out your threat.” Roshan gave her a dark look. “Your reputation among the Dalish, the reputation of Asha’Bellanar, is not a nice one.”  
“That is true.” Mythal nodded. “And I would have done it, if it had been necessary. The task I set for myself was one I could not afford to fail. Much like you could not afford to fail yours, and this is why you are sitting in heart of Tevinter with empty arms. I needed to know the lengths you would be willing to go.”  
Roshan shook her head. She was disgusted, and angry, and more than a bit frustrated. Straightforward Mythal was even worse than enigmatic Mythal. Her words made too much sense for Roshan to dismiss them as lies, but at the same time, her mind reeled at thought of being played like a puppet.  
“Truth is never easy to swallow.” the older woman said, not unkindly.  
Cole’s voice interrupted them.  
“It’s Dorian! Dorian is coming, with them. I don’t like them.”  
Both women stood up, and Roshan gripped her staff. Mythal stood by her side, watching.  
“Lavellan! I’m so glad you called!” Dorian hurried in the area illuminated by firelight. “I can’t wait to show you everything we’ve done.”  
“We?” Roshan repeated. She felt uneasy for reason she could not name, and she suspected Mythal felt it too, because the older woman was quiet.  
“Yes. My partner, the man I told you about. He wanted very much to meet you, so he tagged along. Lavellan, this is my amatus, Taminsan.”  
Even though his skin was darker, hair lighter, and the eyes were brown instead of fully black, there was no mistaking the feeling of pure dread building in Roshan’s belly.  
“Sweet one. How lovely to see you again. And mother. May we call you mother?” the Emperor asked. His smile was terrible to behold.  
“No.”, Mythal said, and her voice was unforgiving. She walked between Roshan and the Emperor, pushing Roshan back. Not looking away from the Emperor, she addressed Roshan:  
“Run, daughter. I will not have you die here. I believe you know what to do, if you ever finished that book you were reading at Halamshiral.”  
It was an order, which rang in her bones like a command from Vir’Abelasan. But Emperor was already striking, and Mythal rose to meet him, her shape changing into a dragon. There was light, and enough power to make the little hairs on her neck to stand up, and someone was screaming. Roshan did not know if it was Dorian, or Cole, or Mythal, but she ran.

Soul anchor. Mythal had told her to make soul anchor and run. Mythal couldn’t win against the Emperor, how could she? Mythal was just a fragment, while the Emperor was as strong as Dirthamen and Falon’Din combined, and Roshan wasn’t entirely sure if he had consumed the rest of the Evanuris in his own world. Her mind was reeling. How he was here? How did he get here? And Dorian, her mind wailed in panic. Why Dorian? He had been there with Dorian for at least a month. She had told Dorian everything. She had asked him to think how to defeat Mythal, by the lost Dales!  
_“The sex is absolutely magical and he has all these ideas on how to gain political power in Magisterium.”_ Regret filled her mouth with bitter taste. She fought the urge to retch as she ran blindly through the woods. Thank the Creators Nuglet was not here with her.

She heard a roar of dragon from the distance, and stopped, not able to go on any longer. Gasping for breath, she went through her pockets, looking for anything suitable. She’d just skip the part about meditation and philosophical aspects of choosing the right form for soul anchor representing her spirit. Dirthamen had probably not thought of emergency crafting when he had written that book ages ago. Her fingers found Nuglet’s amulet, and Roshan pulled it out with shaking hands. It would have to do. The spell. Yes, the spell. The beginning was much like how she began to weave her body anew after death…

She went through familiar motions, but in miniature scale, keeping them tightly combined inside the gem of the amulet. There was still enough magic left in the amulet to make it easy. It felt a bit like magnetic pull, and Roshan remembered the warning about the next part. Feeling her heart race in panic, she focused on herself. Take central part of yourself, something essential, and give it up into anchor, Dirthamen had written. It had to be something one could build back from after death, but also something one could live without in the meantime. The difficulty of balancing between those two things was the reason why nobody had many anchors. It was literally a piece of herself, and one could not lose too many of them.

Roshan thought of Nuglet’s toothless, open smile he had given her on the day they had parted, and tears she had cried on his fuzzy hair when Senris told it was time to give the baby away. She thought the warmth of Dirthamen’s arms, and how he had held her hand all way to Elgar’nan’s palace. His anger at Falon’Din’s unorthodox solution had been real, even though the timing was framed. Poor Falon’Din. They were her clan, now. Her family. Even Mythal, who had attempted to save her at last.

She took her reasons for the anchor, but left the warmth. She did not need justification to go on, Roshan decided, but she needed the feeling. Chanting the words of spell and turning her energy inwards, she created a light which would guide her back home if – or when, her mind reminded – she died. And then she separated it from herself with a violent slash. The sensation was akin to losing a limb, startlingly so. She fell on her knees, shaking with pain and biting her lip not to shout.

When she could think clearly again, Roshan scrambled up to her feet. The forest was unnaturally silent, and it was freaking her out more.  
A group of wisps were circling around her, drawn by magic, and she could see some more defined spirits, too. Curiosity was watching her behind the trees, but… yes.  
“Love.”, she called, and a faintly rosy form distantly reminding her of an elf came closer.  
“Take this. Take this and bring it to my love. Please.” she offered the amulet.  
“What is it?” the spirit asked interestedly. “A lover’s token?”  
“Yes, a token for the one I love. You will find him from the palace of Eldest, or from Halamshiral in southern lands. It is very important.” Roshan spoke fast. She was certain that if there was one spirit Emperor could not summon to him, it was this one.  
“I know. It feels warm with affection. This is a good gift. I will take it to him.” Love nodded and took the amulet from her. It vanished in the thin air, and Roshan shooed the wisps away.  
“Run.”, she told them. “Run!”

 

The Emperor’s too familiar, withered magic caught Roshan mere minutes later. A shadow rose from the ground in front of her, and suddenly she was held, stopped in the middle of a movement. The Emperor walked through the trees, dragging a limp form behind him. It was Mythal, or what was left from her. She was bleeding from countless little cuts, beaten and spent. Roshan’s eyes filled with tears.  
“Our Mother should not die without witnesses.” the Emperor told her. He slowly turned his wrist in graceful gesture, and Roshan was turned around, too, like a puppeteer’s doll. He lifted her a bit higher, and she glided through the air closer. When she got close enough, she saw the Emperor had given up the glamour. He was watching her with wholly black eyes and the face of the twins.  
“You can’t kill Mythal.” she said helplessly.  
“We already have. And our own mother fought much harder.” he said.  
Mythal coughed blood. It was frightening thing, to see a spirit bleeding.  
“Your mother was far too kind with you. She should have struck you down the moment you started to behave like a spoiled brat.” Mythal told the Emperor.  
“Like you did?” the Emperor arched his eyebrows.  
“Just like I did. And my Falon’Din turned out much better than you.” Mythal said. “Children should earn their victories like my daughter here, not to steal them. No mother could ever be proud of a child like you.”  
Her words had a peculiar effect on the Emperor. For a moment, his cocky mask dropped, and he looked genuinely hurt. But it lasted only a second. Then his face twisted into snarl, and he broke Mythal’s neck with a loud snap. Mythal’s golden eyes glazed over, and Roshan felt Emperor’s hungry magic looming over the body, preying on any spark of power, but there were none.  
“Look, sweet one. This is what true death of a god looks like.” the Emperor said as they watched Mythal’s corpse slowly dissolving into green matter.  
“I _hate_ you.” she said.  
He laughed.  
“We know, love. But we’d better get going.” the Emperor said and grabbed a handful of her hair, using it to pull her along.  
“Can’t you just kill me and be done with it?” Roshan hissed as the dragging motion pulled her scalp hard enough to make her eyes water.  
“Tsk. You kept your promise. It’s only fitting that we keep ours.” the Emperor said. “You said that you would kill us. We said that we would keep you. Killing and keeping are two entirely different things.”


	28. Cole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Compassion is found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack for this chapter: Blood of Dragons from Game of Thrones, Season 5 https://youtu.be/JcLPCTEUHeg

“Falon’Din. Falon’Din.” someone shook his shoulder.  
“Go away.”  
“Brother, _wake up_.”  
Falon’Din opened his bleary eyes, ready to give a piece of his mind about forced interruptions, but the moment he saw Dirthamen standing by his bedside, he knew it was serious. Not saying the word, his brother offered his hand to pull him up and led him to window.

He heard the sound first. It was so familiar that first Falon’Din thought he was still in the Fade, but when he looked at the yard below, he knew this was no joke. The sound was father’s army marching. Five eluvians had been set up on the yard, and platoons marched through in formation. Line after line after line vanished in eluvian, and when Falon’Din saw the battalion of elite warriors in golden armor – those who remained of original mercenary company Sun’s Sons – marching to field, Falon’Din knew. Father was going to a war.  
“It started half an hour ago. Nuglet has messed up my sleeping cycle, and I was still awake when they started erecting the mirrors.” Dirthamen said as they watched. “My people knew nothing of this. And I can’t use them to seek answers for six days yet.”  
“Have you seen father yet?” Falon’Din asked.  
“He is not here, but I got a message from father requesting me to bring the orbs.”  
“The orb _s_.” Falon’Din repeated, emphasizing the plural. Dirthamen had finished his original task of finding and collecting the artefacts belonging to Evanuris, including the relics of those who were stuck in Fen’Harel’s imprisonment. Each of the remaining three had his own, but Dirthamen’s people had found three orbs belonging to forcefully retired members of the original pantheon. Those were kept in a locked box in Dirthamen’s keeping. The box was enchanted to open only if all three of them were opening the seals at the same time.  
“Yes. I decided that not going alone was the wisest course of action, so I woke you up first.” Dirthamen replied.  
“Good thinking.” Falon’Din agreed.

\--

“So, where are we?” Falon’Din said as they stepped out from eluvian. The rocky landscape around them was filled with troops already arrived. In darkness, it was easy to see the lights of a city further away. He judged the distance to be maybe two hours for troops, much less for a dragon. The city was on island, connected to mainland by a long bridge which was undoubtedly well guarded.  
“Tevinter, I think. That city is likely Minrathous.” Dirthamen replied. “It’s where Pavus lives.”  
His face shadowed by hood of his battle gear was a bit too neutral, and the hands he held lightly crossed were a dead tell. Too calm. Chances were that Dirthamen’s plot to save his kid had gone grievously wrong and the sudden mobilization had been father’s answer to that. But because Falon’Din was a good brother, he did not say it.  
“I think you should reconsider the order of giving your people a vacation.” Falon’Din said as he studied the field below. From their high vantage point, he spied something odd about the formation of Elgar’nan’s soldiers. There was a small patch of the forest not far from seashore where the troops were not in lines but in a wide circle around something, keeping their distance from centre.  
“I already cancelled it.”, Dirthamen replied shortly.  
“I think that is where we will find father.” Falon’Din pointed at the spot.  
They started hurrying down the mountain.

When the twins reached the circle held by Sun’s Sons, it was obvious from the familiar faces of Elgar’nan’s old soldiers that something was not right.  
“Where is my father?” Dirthamen demanded from a man whose eyes looked a bit watery in the moonlight. Uvien was a seasoned veteran, a battle mage who had taught Falon’Din his very first necromancy spell. He was not prone to crying fits. But he did not answer. Instead, Uvien simply stepped aside and gestured them to pass. Dirthamen walked first, and when Falon’Din followed, he noticed they were passing through a barrier of silence.  
  
First sound they heard was a baby crying. But it was accompanied by something else they had not heard for a very long time. Their father was weeping, too.

Dirthamen started to run.

 

 

When Falon’Din caught up with his brother, he was met by a very peculiar scene. Dirthamen was crushing Nuglet against his chest and breathing so rapidly that Falon’Din strongly considered using a little strangulation spell to stop it. Nuglet screeched in protest for rough treatment – what in the Void the little critter was doing in a middle of a battlefield? – while Senris knelt on Elgar’nan’s side, holding his arm around his lord’s shoulders and speaking something in low voice.  
“What is it? What in the Void has happened?” Falon’Din demanded. A very unpleasant feeling was quickly building inside him. He didn’t like it.  
“It’s...” Dirthamen began but he couldn’t finish the sentence, just shook his head and hid his face behind the hood of his cloak.  
“We are not yet entirely sure.” Senris said, standing up. There was nothing on the ground where Elgar’nan still knelt.  
“Why is Nuglet here?” Falon’Din asked. “Weren’t you supposed to hide from us? Where is Roshie?”  
“As soon as we left the Deep Roads, we decided to split the party. Lady Roshan took the amulet and Compassion, since we assumed Mythal might be able to track her due to her previous servitude. She informed me that she would cross over Vimmark mountain range and travel through eluvian network near Minrathous. There, she had arranged for her shemlen servant, magister Pavus, to pick her up. She planned to spend few days at his estate before returning home.” Senris told him.  
Looking at the empty spot on the ground, he continued:  
“Considering lady Roshan’s well-known ability to get in trouble, I decided it was prudent to follow her from the distance so I could assist if something unexpected happened. Mythal was on her heels, so I gave them three hours of lead to ensure young lord’s security. I assumed all was well until I followed the trail here. We found a traces of a battle and remains of a spirit, nearly dissolved. It was too far gone to tell who it was.”  
“It was Mythal. I felt her passing.” Elgar’nan spoke.  
“We don’t know yet for certain.” Dirthamen said.  
“I know.” Elgar’nan hissed. “And if you think I will spare—“

“Oh, it’s you!” a tinkling voice exclaimed. “I thought I’d have to go far to find you, but you came here instead!”  
A spirit manifested between the trees. It had elf-like form, but no clear features. Love, Falon’Din quickly concluded. It was floating towards Dirthamen, but stopped to brush against Elgar’nan. Elgar’nan accepted it wordlessly, saying nothing as the spirit passed and continued its path.  
“She told me to find you and give you a gift. A lovers’ token, I think. It’s a pretty one.” the spirit said eagerly and pulled an amulet out of nowhere, offering it to Dirthamen. Falon’Din thought it looked like Nuglet’s, but there was something odd with it. Maybe it was malfunctioning because of mother. Dirthamen’s lips moved as he cast a spell of detection and his eyes widened just a fraction. Then he promptly locked the amulet around Nuglet’s neck, not explaining anything. The glow returned to normal blue.  
“Where is my love? Why did she give this to you?” Dirthamen asked from a spirit.  
“Oh, she would have given it to you herself but she had no time. The mages of Tevinter came, and mother told her to run. Compassion tried to help, but it went all wrong.” the spirit said. “She had ran, I think, and she told us to run, too, but she got caught. He killed mother because mother didn’t love him.”  
“ _He_ killed Mythal?” Elgar’nan stood up.  
“The magister was upset when he did it, because he loves him, but he kissed him and made it better.” the Love explained happily.  
“Senris.”, Elgar’nan said, wiping the tears off his face with angry gesture. “Tell the troops to march to Minrathous. We’re going to hunt down the bastard who killed Mythal.”  
“Father, you don’t even know who—“, Dirthamen tried to cut in, but Elgar’nan shook his head.  
“I don’t care. I’ll kill them all.” Elgar’nan swore. “Senris!”  
“I will relay your orders at once, my lord.” Senris said. “It would be fastest if you divided the sea. They don’t expect an attack from that direction.”  
“Yes.” Elgar’nan hissed and stormed off in rage, pulling his orb from his armour.  
Senris looked at the twins.  
“I don’t think I can redirect my lord before his anger has been spent, so I would appreciate if you two could define our target a bit. And preferably rescue lady Roshan while you are at it before she gets killed by Mythal’s murderer or collateral damage caused by my lord. The young lord is not partial to goat’s milk or drawing sustenance from Fade, and makes his displeasure known quite clearly.” Senris stated.  
Nuglet gave Senris a sullen look over his father’s shoulder. He was having a good time sucking Dirthamen’s braid, and he was not happy to see the stern one to approach him with open arms. Stern one didn’t let Nuglet to eat his hair.  
“We will search the Pavus estate first.” Dirthamen told Falon’Din.  
“Do you know where it is?” Falon’Din asked.  
“He was one of my suspects on Crossroads assassination attempt, so I had him watched.” Dirthamen said. What he did not say in front of Senris was that he was getting worried of the identity of Mythal’s murderer. The person who had killed his mother had also managed to avoid his spies for who knows how long. It did not bear well for Roshan. He started to coax his braid away from Nuglet, who was eating it.  
“Maker, that looks disgusting. How you can let him suck your hair and drool on it?” Falon’Din shuddered.  
Dirthamen was just about to answer when he sensed one of his own servants, coming closer fast. It was Fear, who landed on clearing as a raven before shifting her form.  
“Master. We found Druast’asha’s companion near the southern eluvian.”  
“Compassion?” Senris asked sharply.  
Fear’s smile was sharp.  
“Not quite.”, she replied. "Follow me, master."

 

First thing Dirthamen saw was the large hat. A humanlike form was nailed to a tree, and it's head hang low. Hat shadowed Compassion's face. Someone had traced a circle of binding around it. There was a parchment attached a dagger sticking out from spirit's chest. A red line of blood dripped over the paper, staining letters.  
"Cole?", Dirthamen asked, handing Nuglet over to Falon'Din who shuddered involuntarily and kept the baby as far from him as he could.  
The still form didn't answer.  
"Cole?", he called again, walking forwards until he reached the edge of the circle.  
"I can help you.", the spirit whispered.  
"Cole. What happened here? Who murdered Mythal?", Dirthamen demanded. "Where is my wife?"  
The spirit lifted up it's gaze slowly. First thing Dirthamen noticed were the eyes. Instead of watery blue, the eyes beneath large hat were glowing red like dying embers. The smile was twisted and sharp, almost gleeful.  
"I can help.", Cruelty said again. "I tried to help him, too, and I looked too _deep_. I have a message for you."  
Dirthamen looked closer at the parchment, careful not to lean over the binding circle by accident. Between the trickles of blood, he could make out a word, then two. It was a contract of sale, worth of twenty thousand sovereigns. He recognized the unintelligible signature on the bottom. It was Falon'Din's.  
"The Eternal Emperor sends his regards, and says that he keeps what is his.", Cruelty said, and his smile was all teeth.

 

 


	29. Pavus estate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile in the Pavus estate...

A sleepy elf opened the gates and jumped aside when the coachman clicked his tongue to four horses pulling the Pavus carriage. The wheels rumbled against the gravel as a second coach followed the first one.   
The horses stopped in front of the estate, and Roshan watched the windows lighting up. It was raining, and the windows of carriage were thick enough to make her first look at Pavus manor distorted. Or maybe it was just her head which was hurting. The immobility spell Emperor had cast on her didn’t help.   
“You should go first. We will take the back door”, the Emperor suggested to Dorian in common language. “Our guest is not fit to be presented to your Lucerni allies looking like this.”  
Roshan did not answer. The throbbing pain in her skull made her queasy.   
“That’s certainly true.” Dorian said disgruntledly. “I still cannot believe you stumbled like that, Lavellan. Without Taminsan, you would have split your skull open against that rock. Have you forgotten how to walk in a forest? I’ve never seen you so clumsy before.”  
He stood up, careful not to hit his head on the ceiling.   
“I’ll tell servants to draw a bath. Two baths, since I don’t want you to stain my sheets with Lavellan’s blood. And a dinner, amatus.” Dorian said with a quick peek on Emperor’s cheek.  
Roshan gritted her teeth, and did not look when Dorian exited the carriage.

The carriage started moving again, albeit slower this time.   
“What did you do to Cole?” she asked.  
The Emperor lifted his legs up on the bench opposite them and leaned back comfortably.   
“Compassion wanted to help, so we gave him a message to deliver. I would imagine your Evanuris will find it eventually.”  
She closed her eyes.   
“You know you will lose.” Roshan said. “This is not your world. Whatever resources you might have built in Tevinter cannot hold against my family. They will come and kill you for good.”  
“Sweet one, this world of yours is not worth keeping. Your Golden City is blackened and empty, your gods are dead, and Dorian tells me that you cannot even control your own weapons like the Blight. We have no interest in this world.” he informed her. “We will simply pick up few things and then return home.”  
“What kind of things?”,   
“You. A bit more power.” the Emperor said thoughtfully. “Before Compassion was lost, it told us that you are the key to a curious prison your Wolf built to our brethren. We wish to visit it before we leave this place and consume what is inside. You may have one of them. It should keep our fights interesting when we go back. ”  
“Do you think me a fool?” Roshan asked sharply. “If you killed the imprisoned Evanuris, you would turn against Dirthamen the minute you were strong enough to win against three of them. I would die first.”  
The Emperor laughed delightfully.   
“You are such a treasure, sweet one.” he reached to pat her cheek. “We assure you, dying is the last thing you will ever need to worry about. We promised we will keep you, and our Empire is eternal.”  
His black eyes looked into Roshan’s, and there was faint ghost of a smile on Emperor’s lips. He looked disturbingly like Dirthamen at the moment, and she would have recoiled if she only could move.   
“When one has lived as long as we, there are not many pleasures left which still touch our heart. But breaking you will make us feel, and it is a feeling to be savoured. You will either bring us to prison willingly, or we will make Dorian beg you to do it. And then we will take you back to our world, where you shall slay the Wolf for us, and we shall stay our hand against your Evanuris as long as you hold on. If you break, they will die. But if you give up on them, they will die, too. A test of family loyalty.”  
“That will never happen. I will simply kill you again.” Roshan threatened, telling herself not to cry.  
“We are looking forward to it.”, the Emperor said, sounding pleased. “We will give you a weapon for each child you shall bear for us. Maybe arrange an exchange of letters with your husband. In some things, knowing is far more cruel than not knowing.”   
The carriage stopped and the Emperor released her from the spell.   
“Try not to die when you exit the carriage.” he advised. “No. Actually, feel free to try to inflict mortal injuries on yourself. That saves us the trouble of torturing you. Very efficient.”

 

Let it not be said that Roshan Lavellan was not resourceful woman. In first ten minutes she had spent at Pavus estate, she had already managed to almost choke on magebane tonic Dorian’s people had poured down on her throat. Swallowing wasn’t a voluntary reflex, and the moment they had tried to make her swallow by pinching her nose shut… Ah, glorious. Unfortunately, the Emperor had caught on rather fast. She expected no less from him, considering he was as smart as Dirthamen.

Now she was under the careful watch of hopelessly enthralled Dorian in Pavus Estate, standing in a middle of the room with her hands and ankles tied. For her own safety, the Emperor had explained mournfully before he left. It was clear to Roshan that Dorian was bewitched, and Dirthamen always said that it was easiest to give orders the subject would do by his own volition. Not letting his best friend die was easy one for Dorian Pavus, but listening him ranting was not easy for Roshan. She had stopped trying to reason with him. It only hurt worse.

“I can’t understand why you are behaving like this! Like some obnoxious Evanuris! You asked me to find out a way to save your baby from Mythal. Taminsan had no other option than to defend himself; she attacked first. I was worried to death! He could have been killed!” Dorian spread his arms in despair, intent on berating her. “He took a terrible risk!”  
Roshan fought the urge to roll her eyes. This was not Dorian’s fault. She remembered all too well how hard it had been to think after Emperor had kissed her, and Dorian had spent months with the man. He wasn’t responsible for what he said or did. If anyone was, it was her. The Emperor had targeted Dorian because of her.

This was not time to weep, she reminded herself sternly. Mourning Dorian’s fate, or whatever had happened to Cole, was useless if she could not save them. Sooner she died, sooner she could start the rescue operation. Roshan cast an inquiring glance around the room. Scissors on the edge of the table... Maybe. She could kill herself with properly aimed scissors, if only she weren’t wearing an armor. Elgar’nan’s stuff was too well crafted for that. Strangling herself on curtains wouldn’t work without hands, and even though the Tevinter décor with obnoxious statues had promising sharp bits, trying to impale herself on Hessarian’s blade would look extremely suspicious. Dorian’s mind might be addled, but he wasn’t stupid. Was it possible for a person to bite off her own tongue and choke on it like the captured spy did in “Hard in Hightown”? Roshan frowned, moving her tongue tentatively around her mouth.

“Magister Pavus! Magister Pavus!” a breathless servant ran in the room, blabbering something in Tevene. The servant looked very alarmed, and Dorian turned his back at Roshan for a moment, asking something in the same language. Roshan decided to seize her chance. She jumped, landing on her toes as quietly as she could. The luxurious rug softened her fall and blocking the sound. Going as fast as she could, she kept moving towards the beautifully stained glass window representing Tevinter eagle while keeping an eye on two men in the room. Whatever they were talking about, it had to be good, because the servant was too nervous to pay attention to elf jumping across the room.   
Judging it was now or never, Roshan twisted her hips to gain momentum and flung her shoulder against the window. The sound of breaking glass made Dorian turn, but at the same time, Roshan had already shifted her weight to left, crying out against the gag as sharp shards cut her skin. She glimpsed Dorian’s horrified face when she threw all her weight to left, pushing until her balance shifted. Her feet lost contact with the floor and she fell backwards straight out from the window.

There was a sickening crack when she hit the ground.

 

The elven gate guard looked at woman who suddenly had fallen next to her. Bound people falling into their deaths through a window were not unheard of in Minrathous, although magister Pavus wasn’t known of such pursuits. Sighing, the guard decided to clean up the body before Pavus housekeeper came to yell about mess in the courtyard. The windows on third floor were opening, and he could hear his master yelling something panicked and incomprehensible in Tevene.  
His eyes narrowed, then widened as he studied the woman’s face. Quickly making up his mind, he cast clumsily a healing spell to keep her from death’s door and put two fingers in his mouth, whistling a sharp little note. The guard hoisted the bleeding, unconscious woman over his shoulders and jogged through the gates of Pavus estate in Minrathous.

As he left, he noticed a peculiar red glow in the horizon. He wondered the reason for it, but he would find out soon enough from other Red Jennies.

\--

“I’m sorry.” Dirthamen said to spirit as it dissolved into wind and rain and the ground beneath their feet. Compassion was gone, and the world was poorer for it.   
“It was kinder to kill it.”, Falon’Din said gruffly.   
“Yes, it was.” Dirthamen replied as he picked up the parchment from the ground. Looking at the writing, the muscles on his jaw tightened. Really. His own brother selling his pregnant wife to slavery. He felt like trashing Falon’Din again, and he would have, if not for more urgent matters which had to be dealt with. Like his sworn enemy who had murdered their mother and captured Roshan.   
“Dirth.”, his twin spoke urgently. “There is something—“  
He turned around to see Falon’Din tearing at the amulet around Nuglet’s neck. It was glowing with faint green tinge, and before he had chance to think, he stepped through the Fade, grabbing the baby and pushing Falon’Din away so hard that his brother almost fell.   
“No, no, no!” Dirthamen yelled at his twin. “Don’t touch it, you moron.”  
Quickly, he opened the clasp on amulet and handed the baby to Falon’Din who was just getting up from the muddy ground.   
“Hold him.” he barked and turned his back at his annoyed brother and Nuglet, who was not happy either. Dirthamen focused on the amulet, closing his eyes to feel the faint sparkle of magic. They were like saplings reaching through the soil towards sun, fragile yet determined. He reached for the strands, waiting. He felt the first tentative pull, and it brought smile on his face.   
“Keep going.” he cooed to the amulet. “You can do it.”  
And when he felt the pull again, he yanked. A ghostly apparition of his wife manifested through the amulet, and Dirthamen laughed.   
“I knew you would die.” he beamed at faint spectre.   
Roshan smiled, looking relieved, but then her expression twisted in horror. Something was pulling her back.   
“Vhenan, help.” she begged in panic, trying to reach Dirthamen. But she lacked a corporeal body, and her hands passed through his.   
“An empowered summoning spell? Oh, no, you won’t.”, he snapped. Anger gave him focus, and Dirthamen heard the distant notes of the spell calling Roshan. His magic reverberated in his chest, and he reached for Roshan and past her, at the caster trying to steal her away. There was something strange in the spell; it had a peculiar feel of durgen’len magic to it. Mechanical, maybe, like an artefact instead of a person.   
“ _Come._ ”, Dirthamen spoke, and the magic yanked.

His Roshan moved the moment he broke the summoning, recreating a corporeal body in a matter of seconds and then throwing herself in his arms. Dirthamen held her tight, finally allowing himself to breathe.   
“Gaidhalas.”, he whispered in her hair.   
“You frigging arseholes!” a shrill female voice yelled, and Dirthamen blinked. He could not recall last time someone had dared to address him like that. The voice was distorted, coming from a person who was pulling herself up. She wore a blank mask carved from wood, imitating those favoured by Orlesian nobility.   
“Sera?” Roshan turned, looking shocked.  
“Is this how you thank for help, Inky? You can’t just pull people through things. They are people! Not frigging spirits or demons.” Sera yelled. “I saved your sorry ass by stuffing you into my lyrium machine!”  
Dirthamen looked at her, noticing the fancy boots with striped heels. The dots connected in his mind. Dirthamen’s smile disappeared, and his eyes turned cold as he cast a spell of paralysis.   
“How long you have been working for the Emperor, Sera? Or do you have other explanation for trying to murder my wife at the Crossroads?”, he asked.


	30. Last light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian sees his lover in new light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is short update (in hindsight, I probably should have added this to last chapter) but the pacing works better with stopping here. You'll get another, chapter-length update tomorrow.

The streets of Minrathous were in chaos, but it did not seem to affect Taminsan at all. His movements were calm and measured as he stood by a workbench, putting finishing touches on the lyrium idol he had been working on for months.   
“It’s Roshan!” Dorian was on verge of tears. “She... She must have been mad. She threw herself from the window. “  
His lover looked up and an amused smile quirked on his lips.   
“How entirely unsurprising.” Taminsan replied. “Fell to her death, didn’t she?”  
“How can you be so calm? She is dead!” Dorian raised his voice, feeling upset. “I was only distracted for a moment – a servant came to tell me the Magisterium has been called into emergency session because there is _an army of elves on the shore_ , and sea is suddenly parting to offer them a route to march – and there has been a secret base of Red Jennies next door, in the crypts below Hadrianus’ house. My own gate guard was a Red Jenny! Stealing the corpse of my best friend!”  
Taminsan didn’t reply. He was chipping the one last chip from the little statue with oddly shaped elven dagger he called arulin’holm. He looked at his work, turning the idol. It was a bird, but a peculiar one; light shifted eerily on the blue surface of the item. The idol looked like an owl, but cast a shadow of a smaller stature and longer, sharper beak.   
“Taminsan.”, Dorian could not hold his distress. “I need you to focus! Your mind is somewhere else entirely, and I need you! We all are going to get killed, and my best friend is dead, and you are paying me no attention!”  
“There is no need for you to die.” Taminsan said, slipping the idol in his pocket. “Do not fret so, pet. Everything is going according to a plan.”  
“What plan? Do you have a plan? You promised me to help Lavellan against Mythal, but she died, and—“  
“A death is not an ending for likes of us, pet. But even a god can be brought to heel if one knows what he is doing.” Taminsan said. “We fear our father is much too upset to pay attention to detail.”  
Dorian stared at him wordlessly. The sudden switch to Imperial we was odd. His speech sounded different, too. There was something sharp yet pleased in his lover’s voice.   
“This is not the first time we’ve stood against Evanuris.” Taminsan said with a strange little smile. “And it certainly won’t be the last, either. Now show us the body and we all shall accompany you to Magisterium.”

\--

There was something almost clinical in the way Taminsan looked at Lavellan’s broken corpse laying on red lyrium coffin.   
“A lyrium-walled stasis box. Few runes are incorrect.” he noted, following the carvings on the side. “How a rabble like Red Jennies could have something like this?”  
“Before the Veil, the Inquisition had a dwarf, Dagna, who had a curious approach to crafting and magic. Built wonderful yet odd things. I think she was a bit crazy. She and Sera, the leader of Jennies, were lovers. You’d have to be crazy to work with red lyrium.” Dorian grimaced.   
“Best craftsmen usually are.” Taminsan said. “Whoever she was, she had the right idea. Just missed a few final touches.”  
He followed the carvings on the side, remarking to Dorian:   
“The design was built to shelter one person from harm. Demons, spirits, magical damage, physical damage. Red lyrium is antimagic substance. There is a regenerative field inside it; a nice touch. We imagine the coffin could hold against for formidable force after the lid is closed and runes are activated from outside. Of course, all things made from lyrium have the unpleasant side effect. Physical contact with raw lyrium causes serious injuries and psychological damage, and mages usually die. Whoever crafted it, paid more attention to physical survival than mental health. Regeneration does nothing to madness. ”  
Suddenly the ground trembled violently beneath their feet, and both men staggered to keep their balance.   
“Ah. Father has arrived.” Taminsan said. “We should not keep him waiting for too long.”  
Unceremoniously, he grabbed Lavellan’s corpse and pulled it out, dropping the body on the ground. Dorian was opening his mouth to object, but before he could speak, Taminsan caught him. The elf’s grip on his arm was steel, and his eyes were different. They were no longer brown, Dorian realized, but fully black.   
“It will make much better play when the noble scion of House Pavus slays the attacker. The original version, He Who Overthrew His Father, is old news and we’ve grown bored of it.”, the man said, and his magic seized Dorian.

He did not understand what was happening. There was sharp, tearing pain, and the oily feeling which made him want to vomit. He was pulled, and pushed, with unforgiving strength, and when his eyes opened, Dorian’s mind was still reeling. He saw his own beautiful face leaning over the side of the coffin to look down at him.   
“Keep the anchor safe for me, pet.”, Dorian heard his own voice saying when olive hands, adorned with rings, placed the bird statue between his hands. It did not sound the same coming from lips which were not his own. And the hands were wrong.   
“You took my body!” his voice was wrong when he cried out. It was Taminsan’s velvet baritone, not his own.   
“I merely borrowed it. For your legacy and my fall-back.”, his own features were amused. That smile was the last thing Dorian saw before the heavy stone lid was pushed over the coffin. As the red glow lit up inside the coffin, he saw that the inner side of the lid was scarred by deep scratch marks and tracks of dried blood. When the red lyrium started to eat its way through clothes and skin, Dorian understood why. There was nobody to hear him scream, and the lid would not budge.  


Magister Pavus listened the muffled cries from the coffin and shook his head. Finishing the summoning spell, he waited for a moment and watched a spirit of Deceit manifesting next to him.   
“Possess that.” he commanded, nodding towards woman’s corpse. “We require a bait to draw our prey.”

\--

“How long you have been working for the Emperor, Sera? Or do you have other explanation for trying to murder my wife at the Crossroads?” Dirthamen asked. His eyes were hard.   
“Let go of me, you frigging shithead!” Sera screamed.  
“No.”, Roshan whispered. Her expression was torn, and she kept looking at Dirthamen and Sera, her gaze moving back and forth as she tried to decide which side to choose.  
“Before you begin, I’m going to call Senris. Father needs to know who murdered mother.” Falon’Din said, pulling a communication crystal from his pocket.   
Roshan’s face fell.   
“It was the Emperor.” she said in small voice. “Mythal told me to run. She held him back long enough for me to craft the anchor. She saved me in the end.”  
“Do you think there is a possibility that mother might have survived it?” Dirthamen asked.  
“He made me watch her die. If there was something, anything… He would have taken it.”  
A heavy silence fell between the twins.   
“I’m going to call Senris.” Falon’Din finally said. “And then go to Minrathous to lend a hand to father.”  
“Minrathous?” Roshan turned pale. “Don’t tell me Elgar’nan is alone in Minrathous.”  
“He has an army.” Dirthamen answered.   
“But the Emperor is there. He seeks to consume the Evanuris behind mirror, and he needed me to open the way for him. If he thinks he can take all four of them--”, Roshan spoke fast.   
“But surely he could not--“, Falon’Din began, but Dirthamen had already grabbed the crystal from him, yanking the chain in a hurry.   
“Senris!” he snapped. “Answer to me!”  
There was no answer. The rosy glow of crystal stayed unchanged, and there was no pulsing to mark a connection.   
“Overdrive it.”, Falon’Din said with urgency Roshan had never heard from him.  
Dirthamen slammed a swirling spell on the crystal, and the dark forest was suddenly filled with sounds of a battle. Above the clashing of weapons, sounds of casting and screams of the dying men, one voice rang louder than all others.   
“My lord!” Senris roared. “NO! MY LORD!”

The sky in the north exploded in blinding light. The wave started from Minrathous. The light burned the once proud buildings, destroying them in a heartbeat. It burned through the bodies of soldiers fighting in the streets. The dragons circling above the city were there one moment, and gone the next when light touched their forms. The sea lapping against the island sizzled.  
The crystal in Dirthamen’s hand shattered, but not before they all heard Senris’ voice and everything else being replaced by eerie silence. It was not as much silence as a complete lack of all sound. Falon’Din’s mouth opened in wordless scream when he felt a sudden surge of countless spirits being violently torn from their bodies. One among them was brighter than others. Unable to think, he threw himself and Nuglet on the ground, pulling power from his orb to shield them. He barely registered Dirthamen following suit with Roshan just before the light caught up with them. Falon’Din felt the final brush of father’s magic against his barrier as it swept over them, and the loss of it passing made him weep like a desolate child.

Minrathous bathed in light, and then it was no more, swept from the face of the world by a hand of god.

 


	31. Din'Anshiral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recent events force Dirthamen and Roshan to choose a path they never wanted.

Roshan walked quietly forwards. Ice spread on her footsteps, keeping her afloat over the surface of water.  
“I need you to start working on a spell to scry the events of past few hours.” she addressed Fear and Deceit. “My husband will wish to know how his father died.”  
She looked critically at the spot where entrance to the city of Minrathous had once stood. Turning to rest of the soldiers, she continued:  
“The man who killed my father-in-law is betrayer of worst sort. He is not familiar with Thedas as it is, and I think it is likely he might linger here somewhere. When you conduct the search, do it in groups. Be especially careful with Pavus estate. I will pinpoint the location for you.”  
Roshan snapped her fingers, sending flickering lights over the area where the most prestigious magisters of Minrathous had lived.  
“If you see anything odd, attack first and ask questions later. Be wary of spells you use; the amount of power unleashed here might cause magic go awry. Now go.” she finished.  
Nuglet watched the sparks with wide, innocent eyes. He made a small inquiring noise, and Roshan stroked his downy hair. It had to be enough, because she had no words to tell her son that both his grandparents had been killed in a single night, and the murderer was preying on his father and uncle next.  
“There are things you cannot afford to fear, da’len.” Roshan said instead, watching people dive under the waves. “Because if you do, they will just take more and more from you. I have reached my limit today; this must end.”

\--

Only a portion of Elgar’nan’s army had survived. The reinforcements which had not yet been called to a field had waited by the eluvians, not far from the place where Compassion had been found. The twins’ barrier had stopped the light from reaching them. They were mostly new recruits. Sun’s Son’s and the best of Elgar’nan’s people, including Senris, had fought at his side in Minrathous and perished with the city.

There was a hungry look on survivors’ faces, Roshan thought as she passed them. They watched her and the baby in her arms with a numb despair nearing panic. On few, the emotion was already turning into desperate need. She remembered the look from Haven, and cold fingers danced along her spine.  
“Do not despair.” she said, stopping in front of old man who was weeping openly. The lines of his vallaslin were still bright; a city elf, perhaps.  
“Inquisitor.”, he choked. “Druast’asha.”  
“You are not alone. We have not forsaken you.” Roshan said firmly, her voice carrying conviction she did not feel. But she had been a First, then a Herald of god she did not believe in. Lying was old habit of hers. Sometimes, a lie was required to give strength when a truth could not.  
The man swallowed, looking at her and Nuglet,  
“My cousin was at Halamshiral. He said he saw you die, Druast’asha.” he said in thick voice.  
“Yet here I am.”, Roshan replied. “You will not be abandoned if you don’t abandon us first.”  
She gave him a small nod and continued her way towards an eluvian.

 

Roshan found Dirthamen from the kitchen of their house. His eyes were red, and his hair was in disarray as he sat by a table, leaning against his hands. She put Nuglet down on a soft blanket – courtesy of Elgar’nan’s well-stocked nursery, she remembered, and her heart hurt – and went to her husband.  
“Vhenan.”, she said softly. “How is he?”  
“I finally got him to sleep.” Dirthamen said hollowly. “Falon’Din is useless. I never thought he would take this so hard, but I didn't expect losing both our parents in a single night, either.”  
“And you?” Roshan asked, wrapping her arms around him.  
“Both of them in the same day. And it was my fault. I lured the Emperor here.”, his words caught in his throat.  
“No, vhenan.” Roshan replied. “You know the Emperor. Even if we had never met him, he could have found his way here. He would have done it regardless. And he told me that he came for me, not you. I’m equally to blame.”  
Pressing her cheek against his hair, she continued:  
“You did not slay Mythal in cold blood. You are not responsible for what happened to Elgar’nan. What happened is a terrible loss, and I grieve with you, Dirthamen. You are not alone.”  
He pulled her on his lap, holding her tightly.  
“Thank you, love.” Dirthamen whispered. “But you will not thank me for what we must do to stop him.”  
“You have a plan?” Roshan asked.  
“I do. But first tell me what you found out.”

She told him the story Fear and Deceit had told her mere moments ago. Like all imprints on the Fade, the truth was subjective, pieced together from memories of several spirits. But there were some things which remained the same.  
“It was Dorian.” she said with heavy heart. “When Elgar’nan’s troops marched in Minrathous, the magisters were waiting on Three Imperator’s Square. The memories have Dorian holding a woman by neck, woman who looked like me, injured and on the brink of death.”  
“Likely it was your dead body, possessed by a demon or a spirit.” Dirthamen said darkly. “Father would have noticed a glamour. Detecting possession requires a different divination, and he was likely too angry to pay attention.”  
Roshan swallowed and continued:  
“Dorian cut her throat and threw the body at Elgar’nan’s feet, taunting him. He lost his temper. The moment he attacked Dorian, something happened. Fear and Deceit think it was durgen’len magic, hidden in the crypts beneath the ground. I told them to look into it.”  
“Yes. The Emperor was allied with dwarves; he knows their ways better than me or Falon’Din. He has worked with durgen’len for eons. Likely they have developed things we don’t know of.”  
“It was a spell.” Roshan said with difficulty. “Fear said it had common elements with Veil, or a Rite of Tranquillity. It latched on Elgar’nan’s magic, consuming it. Fear and Deceit showed me the memory; I think it must have been how Taminsan killed his own father in his own world. The spell work was too detailed, too tailored to be anything else. He must have spent years perfecting it.”  
Dirthamen stayed silent.  
“Elgar’nan fought. And when he—“, Roshan’s voice broke. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and willed herself to go on. “When he understood what was going to happen, he took his orb. He would not submit, he said, and if he had to die, he would not give him a pleasure of winning. He opened the orb and turned the power inwards, burning through himself. There was nothing left to steal.”  
Her heart heavy with exhaustion and hurt, she pulled a blackened orb from her pocket and set it on the table. The orb was wet and cold after being fished out from the bottom of sea an hour ago. It was still whole, but when she held it, she could not detect more than a faintest glimmer of power, barely enough to light a candle.  
“We will give it to Nuglet when he grows up.”, Dirthamen said. “Father would have wanted that.”  
“He would have.” Roshan nodded. “He loved Nuglet.”  
“What about the Emperor?”  
“We don’t know yet for certain. Dorian is dead, but I don’t think the Emperor would have died so easily. And this was certainly his work. Dorian was merely a puppet.” Roshan said. She bit her lip, looking at Dirthamen:  
“Are you certain your father is dead? Surely he had an anchor.”  
“We don’t know.” Dirthamen replied. “Falon’Din swears he felt father’s soul passing to Beyond. He speaks of last brush of magic, like a farewell. That was what made him so inconsolable. I felt nothing like that, but two of them were always close, and I don’t have Falon’Din’s affinity with dead.”  
Straightening his posture, Dirthamen continued:  
“What is more important, father was a strategist. Even if he survived, one does not win a war by being honest. If I were father, I would lay down and let everyone believe in my death until I found a way to win the fight. When I killed mother, it took years and years for her to crawl through the Ages to find a new vessel. The truth does not matter if we are to stop the Emperor. In all ways which count, father is gone.”  
“But how we will stop the Emperor?” she asked helplessly. “He will come after you and Falon’Din next.”  
“Yes. But no matter what he is, he is just one man. To stop him, we must become more.” Dirthamen said, even though the words made him feel ill.  
“Oh.” Roshan replied, and he saw from her face that she understood precisely what he meant.

\--

“They need something to believe in. Otherwise they will shatter.” she whispered to Dirthamen.  
Her husband’s face was grim as he walked by her side in makeshift camp near Minrathous.  
“I know.” he said quietly. “And we need them to hunt him down.”  
Dirthamen looked at her.  
“I am sorry.” he whispered as they stopped at the last trees before a small clearing. “For the city I showed you. For the life we could have had. I wanted to give it to you and Nuglet.”  
“I’m sorry, too.” Roshan said. Her throat felt tight, and unshed tears prickled in her eyes. Elgar’nan, and Mythal. The black house in islet, her garden, the elves pouring blessed water on the stones of ruined city. But she could not cry. Dirthamen clasped her right hand tightly in his left, squeezing it, and drew a breath.  
“Are you ready, love?” he asked. “Shielan?”  
Roshan adjusted Nuglet’s position in the crook of her arm, pulling the corner of blanket off his face. He was awake, watching them both with solemn expression. Babies were like that, she knew. They picked up feelings so easily.  
“Yes, vhenan.” Roshan replied. “We are ready.”

Together, they stepped from the shadow of the trees in the clearing where eluvians and the remaining forces of Elgar’nan’s army awaited. Upon seeing them, an elf in golden armor rose up from the ground and hurried towards them.  
“Are there news of our lord?” the man’s face was pale behind Elgar’nan’s vallaslin.  
“The All-Father is gone, Uvien.” Dirthamen’s voice was strong and clear. “But we know who is guilty of this foul deed, and I will avenge my father. He is a prisoner in our world, and we will hunt him down.”  
“This will not go unpunished.” Roshan continued. “We shall pursue an elf called Taminsan to ends of the earth, and he will pay for his crime. This is our promise to you, and our father.”  
Roshan heard low whispers and quiet murmuring among the elves watching them, but she paid them no attention, simply waiting the moment to pass. She wanted to look at Dirthamen, but she knew she could not. Uncertainty was something they could no longer afford.  
The man who had come to them was first to speak after silence fell.  
“We will follow you to avenge our lord.” Uvien said. Slowly, he fell on his knees, bowing deep. “All-Father. All-Mother. Young lord Shielan.”  
One by one, the elves around them followed his example. Dirthamen slipped his hand around her waist, pulling her closer as they stood tall and regal above the kneeling People. When Roshan’s eyes met Dirthamen’s, she knew his mouth tasted as bitter as hers.

Evanuris.

\--

The world around him was shattering into pieces. He could not think how else to describe it. The ground beneath his feet was rumbling while the sky was being torn apart. On his left, an old tree suddenly just vanished, and the frightened shout of a hunter who had followed him was cut short. He ran faster, screaming her name.  
“Mythal! All-Mother, please help us!” his voice was hoarse from shouting when he finally saw the temple of Vir’Abelasan. But it was breaking, too. The white stones were cracking, and he glimpsed a terrified sentinel in golden armor just before her spirit was suddenly torn from her body. It dissolved before his eyes.  
“Mythal!” he cried for help. The chaos around him froze without warning, and he felt relieved before he understood that the form walking towards him was not their Great Protector. A man in black robes carried a small baby. A peculiar stillness followed in his footsteps.  
“Who are you? Where is our Mother? What is happening here?”  
The newcomer watched him with cool eyes before speaking a single word in a voice which vibrated in his bones.  
_“Remember.”_

“You.”, Solas hissed. “The betrayer!”  
“I could say the same thing about you.” Dirthamen replied sharply. “You have been thorn on my side for a long time. Especially after Roshan killed you. Your incarnations are even more annoying than you.”  
The Keeper of Secrets glared at him.  
“What remains of my mother has been killed by a creature from another world. This world she created for her servants is breaking apart. You can perish with the rest of the spirits inhabiting this place and return to raw Fade, or you can listen what I have to say.”  
Everything was coming back to him now; from the very beginning to his last moment when his heart had broken his soul anchor and released him. There were dim memories, more like dreams, of a life among a clan in a forest but they were fading by a moment. Dirthamen was not in a habit of lying, Solas remembered, but he was not the type to give away knowledge for free, either. And there was something very familiar in the child he held. His nose, the shape of his jaw. Lavellan.  
“The child.” Solas said, swallowing. He couldn’t think. “Is he mine?”  
Dirthamen reacted with visible anger.  
“Certainly not.” he snapped. “He is _my_ son. Mine, and Roshan’s.”  
Solas blinked. Oh. He didn’t remember anything like that happening. When had it happened? How long it had been?  
“His mother, _my wife_ , is hunted by an Evanuris from a parallel world, and since your sentimental good-bye message did not give enough details to work out the spell of imprisonment in haste, I’m here to drag you back to do the job you left unfinished.”  
Solas felt very perplexed, but he was not going to let Dirthamen see it. He knew, probably, but Solas was not going to offer him secrets on a platter. He kept his face neutral as he asked:  
“So those are terms you offer?”  
“You can either perish here, or you can come back with me and help us to imprison the Emperor.” Dirthamen said harshly.  
“Why would I do that?”  
“Because Mythal is dead, and if we leave the hunt of her murderer to Falon’Din, what is left of the world after Veil might not be enough to go on? I have no wish to raise my children in a barren wasteland where air is too toxic to breath. The Evanuris I mentioned has siphoned a soul of another in his own world, and a battle between us will tear everything apart. Wasn’t that what you claimed to try to avoid when you first created the Veil?” Dirthamen arched an eyebrow.  
The baby let out a delighted squeal as he caught Dirthamen’s braid. Sighing, the Keeper of Secrets created a butterfly to distract the infant as he goaded his hair away from tiny hands. The child watched the illusion with wide eyes. The colour of infant’s eyes was peculiar, Solas thought, unable to look away even though it hurt. They were bright lyrium blue. In closer study, it was obvious that Dirthamen had told him the truth. There were no traces of Solas himself on infant’s little face, but he would grow up to look much like the twins. Solas felt embarrassed and defensive of his first reaction, especially for the fact that timing made it impossible and still he had blurted out the first thing he thought like some fool. Solas had never liked being wrong.  
“Do you make a habit of bringing your son along to threaten people?” he asked harshly.  
“You need to see what it is on stake.” Dirthamen replied calmly. “You told my wife that you wanted to restore our world. For that, countless people died. Many parts of the world are still burning. But there is hope. There are children born with a gift of magic, and the world of Tranquil is no more. We are rebuilding what was beautiful in our world.”  
Adjusting his arm around the infant, Dirthamen continued:  
“It is a fragile hope I’m offering you. It could be that you will regret the world you have created with your actions when you see it. But if you do not assist me in imprisoning the Emperor, I have no other choice than use raw force. We have seven orbs at our disposal, and I swear we will turn every one of them against our enemy. There can be no peace between us and him, even if Thedas pays the cost for our war.”  
“What you are saying is that even if every other child dies in that war, yours will not, and you will make me a scapegoat for those deaths.” Solas said bitterly.  
“Of course.” Dirthamen replied with a little smile. “We can’t offer you a true life, but a body can be given to you for limited period of time. Falon’Din has agreed to keep your spirit from returning to Beyond until the task has been completed. Without your anchor, there is not much to build the spell on now that mother’s sanctum is gone.”  
“And when it ends?” Solas asked. “Will I be released then?”  
“When the Emperor is no longer a threat, I will personally make sure you stay dead. You have my word for that.”  
Solas looked at the child Dirthamen held.  
“Do you truly love her, or is it just a game for you?”, he asked the Keeper of Secrets.  
Dirthamen looked him in the eye.  
“A game for what purpose, Solas?”, he asked. “There is nobody left to play against. Is it truly so impossible to think that another man might have seen what you saw, with the difference that I chose happiness instead of a duty to the People? That another world you yearned for is the one where I live with my wife and child, and we are happy.”  
For a moment, Solas was unable to speak.  
“I never thought you were as cruel as your brother, but it seems I was wrong.”, he managed to let out.  
“Truth is often cruel.”, Dirthamen answered. “But we’ve talked long enough. The spell is ready.”  
The world shattered around them, and suddenly Solas realized that even though Dirthamen had spoken of making a choice, he had never actually given him one. Solas felt himself being pulled through somewhere against his will, and he screamed.

\--

 

First thing Solas felt was the pain blooming as he fell on the cold stone floor. His jaw hit the floor and the impact made him groan. Fenedhis, corporeality hurt. His mind was still distracted from sudden influx of memories, and he was not certain what was true, what was a memory.  
“Get up.”, someone kicked him, and he saw Falon’Din’s scowling face looming above him.  
“We need him intact, brother.” a female voice said neutrally.  
“All-Mother.”, Falon’Din acknowledged with an unhappy nod. But he stepped back, and let Solas to push himself on his knees.  
“Mythal?” he asked, not understanding. Had Dirthamen lied? He had said that Mythal was dead. But the magic which had pulled him through had been cold and unpleasingly familiar, a spell used to hold Vir’Abelasan and those bound to it. Dirthamen had never asked if he wanted to come. The Keeper of Secrets knew Solas had to obey, whether he wanted it or not.

“No, Solas.” the female voice said to him. “I am All-Mother now.”  
He looked up, and to his horror, he saw the familiar features of Roshan Lavellan. She stood in front of him, wearing elaborate robes. Her face was the solemn mask he remembered from Inquisition, and the room was similar, too. He was in the great hall of Tarasyl’an Tel’as, and there were two thrones on the dais. Dirthamen sat in other one, watching him with eyes which missed nothing.  
“No.”, he choked.  
“Yes.”, Roshan Lavellan said. “I don’t think you remember it, but last time we met, Mythal taught me how to rule over Vir’Abelasan. I cast the spell which brought you here.”  
A dry smile twisted her lips.  
“She was right when she said I inherited the job.” she added quietly. “And now I find myself in need of a wolf, too.”


	32. Exchange of hostages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Emperor suggests exchange of hostages to Falon'Din, who is known for his excellent trades.

“Falon’Din. I demand that you tell me if it is true what I just heard about Minrathous.” Divine Victoria said sharply to a crystal set on golden band. It was glowing on her finger.   
“And here I hoped this was going to be another kind of call.” her lover’s voice sighed. “What are you wearing?”  
“Do not try to distract me. Minrathous, Falon’Din.”  
“Simply put, we ran into a trouble with an enemy hiding there. Father is dead and the city went down with him. Dirthamen has taken over.”  
“Oh.” Vivienne said, the mask of Divine falling off unexpectedly. She bit her lip and asked:   
“Are you all right, dear?”  
The line was silent for some time, and Vivienne was starting to doubt if he was still there. She felt a stab of regret for not allowing Falon’Din to install an eluvian connecting his bedchamber to hers, no matter how terribly suspicious it would have looked to Chantry Sisters making her bed and cleaning the room.  
“No. Not really.” Falon’Din said. He sounded a bit too hollow.  
Vivienne picked up a missive from her table. The Black Divine had requested a historical meeting, first one since Schism. The man wrote flowery phrases of current difficult time and the importance of unity of human faith. He had gone far enough to mention Divine Victoria’s expertise on dealing with elvhen heretics. The letter had arrived with dozen other requests for meetings. The sudden disappearance of Tevinter capital was something humans could not afford to ignore, not like other countries had ignored Dirthamen’s blatant thievery of Kinloch Hold and Lake Calenhad. Encouraged properly, humans would unite behind a common symbol and show elves they could not be bullied into complacency. It was a chance Divine Victoria had to seize, for the sake of her own power and the survival of Andrastians.  
It was not Divine Victoria whose lips parted to ask a foolish, ill-advised question from elvhen god:   
“I would like see you tonight. If it was all right?” Vivienne said hesitantly. She knew Falon’Din was fiercely proud and independent to boot. But he was hurting, and Vivienne felt ill thinking she was not there with him. For him.   
“I would like that.” he replied, then added quickly: “If you have nothing else to do.”  
Vivienne looked at the desk filled with missives.   
“No.”, she lied fluently. “I’m simply feeling a bit bored.”  
“Good. I’ll get someone else to watch Nuglet and drop by. Leave the balcony door open. See you soon, Viv.”  
The crystal stopped shimmering, and Vivienne smiled. She turned to unlock the balcony door, but not before making sure the charm there would only let Falon’Din through. Carelessness was a vice which led to early death. Vivienne made a quick glance around the room. She was immaculate as always, but the desk needed tidying. It would not do to get caught on a lie.  
Turning her back towards the balcony, she opened a drawer and started cleaning the papers away. Vivienne was just trying to decide whether Countess du Soissons should be sorted into trashcan or a drawer when she heard balcony door opening behind her. Feeling a bit irritated for getting caught, but more worried – how bad was it, if he had arrived so quickly -, she said smoothly:   
“Paperwork. Sometimes it is simply mind-numbing.”  
“I couldn’t agree more.” a man replied. His voice was familiar, but somehow wrong, too. Vivienne swallowed, and the little hairs on her neck stood up. Vivienne made sure she discreetly brushed the surface of communication crystal with her other hand as she took the next pile of letters and put them in the drawer.   
“Do you have cough, my dear? Your voice sounds different. Did you get cold, coming here so quickly?” she asked neutrally. Her heart beat faster inside her chest, and she kept her back turned at the man behind her, sheltering the rosy glow of the crystal with her body.   
“You are a cunning one, but simply not good enough.” the man said. Vivienne wound her fingers around a letter opener – she never used it, but keeping a poisoned dagger on one’s table was simply a sensible precaution – but she didn’t have time to use it. Suddenly she felt a sharp pain in her back, effortlessly tearing through her shields. Vivienne fell forwards, and the last thing she remembered was annoyance; there were red drops splattered all over her papers.  


\--

Nuglet had made a fascinating discovery. If he rocked his body from left to right long enough, he would eventually turn over. Suddenly he no longer had to be content with watching the ceiling or screeching at people when he wanted to sample something which looked interesting. His minions were not very good at bringing him interesting things. Mamae and papae were absent again, and Uncle was standing on the balcony, chatting something into rose-coloured crystal with ridiculously velvety voice and a smarmy smile. Nuglet found it boring to watch and the glass doors were closed, anyway, so he couldn’t hear what Uncle was saying.

He saw a sparkly golden ball on the low table by stairs, and he wanted to taste and feel it. Glancing at Uncle who was still busy, Nuglet started to make his way from the rug Uncle had put him on. The stone floor was cold but Nuglet was a man with a mission, a voyager in a new world, and he would not be stopped. He rolled across the room.

When Nuglet reached his destination, he faced another obstacle, much to his chagrin. The table had looked low from across the room, but now that he was next to it, it was still too high for him to get the ball. Starting to feel frustrated, he slapped the table leg with a hand. Nothing happened.

Anger started to bubble inside Nuglet. He had travelled far, suffered unpleasantly cold floor, hit his head twice as he had rolled a bit too fast, and now he still couldn’t get the golden ball. It was _his_. His own. When he looked up, he could just see it sparkling invitingly above him. He wanted a taste, he wanted! His gums were itchy and the rough edges with pretty pale stones looked just right to ease his discomfort.

Nuglet was on the edge of screeching, but he knew that if Uncle heard him, he would come and carry him back to rug. It was no use. Feeling immensely frustrated, he slammed his hand against the stone floor instead, and suddenly something very curious happened. The stone melted under his hands, and it felt warm. Nuglet stared at it with wide eyes. He didn’t notice when the table legs sank into groove, tipping the balance off. The golden ball rolled off the table and fell on him.

Nuglet felt a sudden, heavy thing hitting him on the back. It hurt. He didn’t remember anything feeling like this, ever, and the stone had stopped doing the interesting thing. He didn’t like this feeling. His eyes opened wide, and he was going to burst into tears to summon his minions to take the bad feeling away from him, when the heavy weight was suddenly removed from his back and he was being lifted up.  
He felt a spell spreading on his skin, and it took the hurt away from his back. He cried a bit, to be sure, but he was held against warm chest, and his back was stroked in calming sweeps, so he didn’t mind too much.

When Nuglet was suitably recovered, he looked up, giving his favourite minion a judgemental glare. He didn’t like people vanishing away to places he couldn’t find them from.   
“Three months old and already doing magic.” grandpapae said. He looked proud and worried at the same time. “That’s my boy.”  
Nuglet beamed, giving him his best smile. Grandpapae smiled back at him.   
“I didn’t expect you to do this so early. But someone has to keep an eye on you, I guess, and it is obvious that Falon’Din is not doing good enough job. Letting babies touch magical artefacts. Really.” grandpapae shook his head with stern disapproval.   
He wiped tears from Nuglet’s face with his sleeve.   
“This will be our secret. You must not tell anyone.” he said, tickling Nuglet’s tummy until the weepy hurt was replaced by bubbly glee. Tickling made him twitch and wiggle until happiness came out from his mouth in giggles. It was a grand feeling, and grandpapae smiled again. His eyes were warm and he kissed both sides of Nuglet’s face. It made Nuglet feel even better. Somehow soft.   
“We will meet again, soon.” grandpapae promised.   
He carried Nuglet and the ball back to rug, and then he vanished out of sight. Feeling content, Nuglet started to eat the ball. It rubbed his gums just the right way.

The balcony door opened and Uncle came in.   
“What in the Void you are doing?” he grabbed the ball away from Nuglet. “I can understand the lure of power, but at this stage, you’d likely just turn yourself into a cockroach. And don’t start with the waterworks. I have no time for that.”  
Nuglet opened and shut his mouth twice, feeling annoyed.   
“No, I have no idea where Roshie is. Probably trying to take over the world with Dirth. Eating is overrated, you know. It’s far better to be interestingly pale and beautiful, just like me.”  
Nuglet frowned, looking uncertainly at Uncle. He tried to reach for the crystal dangling around Uncle’s neck, but Uncle took it off and dropped it on a table next to the ball.  
“Why, you ask? Maker, don’t they tell you anything about how the world really works?” Uncle shook his head, picking Nuglet up. “I guess you could tag along for preparations before I take off to Viv’s. I need a new wingman since Dirth got obsessed with monogamy, and the way you are now, you need a lot of training. You can help me to pick up a preparatory fuck, so I can properly concentrate on Viv later. Some women find babies irresistible.”   
Nuglet was confused, but Uncle seemed to think this was a great idea.   
“Tarasyl’an Tel’as is boring and empty. We’ll go to Antiva instead, I think.” Uncle told him. He pointed at the stone wall, scribbling something on it with fiery glowing letters. Then he took Nuglet to balcony and jumped off with him. Nuglet screeched at oddly weightless sensation as they fell, but it was ticklish, too, and when Uncle’s feet landed on the ground, Nuglet was already giggling.  
“Keep doing that. Women just melt when they see laughing babies. This is going to be good.” Uncle advised, sounding appreciative. Together, Nuglet and Uncle took off to eluvian.

\--

 

Mere minutes later, there were steps on the stairs leading towards Inquisitor’s quarters.   
“You did well with Andruil’s people, gaidhalas.” Dirthamen said, taking Roshan’s hand. The warm appreciation in his voice made Solas scowl as he walked three steps behind his mistress like a faithful servant should.   
“Thank you.” Roshan replied. “They are not so different from the hunters of my old Clan, and the Emperor is a prey worth hunting. I think Sylaise’s people will prove to be far more difficult.”  
“I’m well familiar with some of her most influential retainers. I can handle them.” Dirthamen promised.  
He would be, Solas thought clinically, considering how many times Sylaise had extended an invitation to Keeper of Secrets. The Hearthkeeper would have killed for the position the Inquisitor had stolen in her absence. The chances were that this coup could proceed somewhat until Elgar’nan found out. Replacing an existing leader was never easy, the fact Solas knew full well from his own rebellion against Evanuris.   
“Solas.”, his heart turned to look at him. “We’ll have a short break now before meeting with Sylaise’s people. You are welcome to join us if you wish.”  
He simply nodded, noticing the annoyed glint flashing in Dirthamen’s eyes.   
“Thank you, Inquisitor.” he replied smoothly, following the pair upstairs.

The room was empty, but there were burning letters written on the stone wall behind Inquisitor’s desk. The stone was still smoking.   
_“Went to Antiva to teach Nuglet the wingman art. FD.”_  
Roshan looked at Dirthamen.   
“Our son is three months old, vhenan.” she said in clipped tones.   
“I know.” Dirthamen replied darkly.  
“I love your brother dearly, but sometimes he just doesn’t stop to think. With no news of the Emperor’s whereabouts—“  
“Let me think this through. We need to ensure their safe return discreetly. At his current state of mind, Falon’Din would arrange a spectacle if I went to drag him back, and that would draw too much unwanted attention.”, Dirthamen said, sitting down on Inquisitor’s chair and crossing his fingers under his chin.   
The crystal on the table began to pulse with pink light. Dirthamen picked it up, deftly working the code of Falon’Din’s spell. His brother was so predictable with his security measures. He kept using the star alignment of their birthday written backwards, no matter how many times Dirthamen had lectured about sheer stupidity of it.  
“Do you have cough, my dear? Your voice sounds different. Did you get cold, coming here so quickly?” Vivienne’s voice filled the room.  
Roshan took a step closer to the desk.  
“You are a cunning one, but simply not good enough.” a male voice said. He sounded like the twins, but the accent was different. Solas saw Roshan stilling for a moment. She looked frozen, and Dirthamen’s expression had changed into mask which gave away nothing.   
They heard a crack of magic, then a dull thump. The silence stretched between them. In quiet steps, Roshan walked to Dirthamen. He pushed his chair back, pulling her on his lap. Together, they waited.   
“Falon’Din, we presume?” the male voice spoke again.   
Dirthamen concentrated, and the angry burst of words flooding from his lips was perfect imitation of his twin’s cadences.   
“Give back Viv, you bastard, or I will string you by balls.” Dirthamen threatened.  
The man chuckled.   
“We made an excellent trade with you in the past, and now we are offering you another. Your toy for your sister-in-law. Delivered at the entrance of Evanuris prison at dusk.”  
“No.”, Dirthamen replied airily. “We will meet in one hour. At the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I bring Roshie, you bring Viv. Unharmed and alive.”  
He cut the connection and leaned back in his chair, looking pleased.   
“Now we have him.” Dirthamen said, a wicked smile spreading on his face. “Solas, you will play Falon’Din. When the Emperor tries to attack you to consume his soul, you will push him inside prison and seal him inside.”  
Solas looked at him.   
“If I were to do that, it requires that the Inquisitor breaks Mythal’s hold over me.”, he stated slowly. “If the Emperor is as dangerous as you say, he could use the connection between us to find a way out, eventually.”  
“I’ll do that gladly.” Roshan said quietly. “I would not have forced you to come, if there had been another option.”  
Solas simply nodded.   
“And I also request another boon.” he continued. “I wish to see your memories about the Emperor. The act of sealing him in would require me to seal myself with him, and I am not going to accept a lifetime of imprisonment without sufficient reason.”  
Dirthamen’s eyes narrowed.   
“Fen’Harel.”, he warned.   
“All right.” Roshan said calmly. “You can see what I know of the Emperor. But nothing else.”  
Solas nodded again, keeping his face carefully neutral. He walked around the desk, where Roshan sat on Dirthamen’s lap.   
“Sleep.”, he said, brushing his fingertips against her forehead. She let out a quiet sigh, and her head fell as the spell took her. Dirthamen’s purple eyes were dark as he watched Solas.   
“I will not interfere on how my wife treats her slaves, but you will not betray us for second time, Wolf.” he said coldly. “You shall stay bound until the moment the Emperor is gone.”  
“So little trust.” the corners of Solas’ mouth curved up slightly. “This might take some time.”  
“You get a quarter of hourglass before I draw her back. Sleep on the floor, or take the bed. I don’t care. But my wife stays here.” Dirthamen replied. His arm wrapped around Roshan’s waist, gathering her close.   
“As you wish.” Solas replied. The possessiveness of his gesture irked Solas, but it was no matter. The gaming dice were rolling, and it was all that mattered.


	33. The last battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirthamen comes up with a plan to beat the Emperor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For feels:  
> You are no son of mine, Game of Thrones OST https://youtu.be/yzfbTWpoZYA

The secret was that divination had always been a misleading art. There was some guesswork included, but the heart of it was simple math combined with magic used to pick up clues from the Fade. Dirthamen did not need his map of stars to predict future events, even though he found it useful as a memory aid. Letting others know he was easily able to calculate probabilities and possible outcomes in his mind was not nearly as effective as putting up a show. People were gullible and easily impressed by star constellations and a dash of mystery thrown in the mix; their awe usually heightened the likelihood of Dirthamen’s preferred outcome from 0,8 to 3 percent, depending on person’s naivety.

His wife was not naïve. Roshan had a sarcastic bent and noticeable lack of respect towards authorities. Dirthamen was very fond of both traits in her, even though he disliked them in Fen’Harel. The difference between the two, he decided, was Roshan’s fierce protectiveness towards those she considered hers. Maybe he could explain her later that it had rubbed off on him, trying to explain why he was not going to follow the plan he had laid out mere minutes ago. Gently following the curve of her ear with his fingertips, Dirthamen smiled. She would never buy such a poor explanation. No. Roshan was too smart for that, but he couldn’t tell her the truth, either. Because the truth was that their gamble against the Emperor was not likely to pay off.

On first path, Dirthamen calculated, they locked the Emperor away, sacrificing the Wolf. He focused his magic, recreating the familiar observatory map with new arrangement. In next thousand years, the spell told him, the Emperor will kill those inside to siphon their power. The symbols of imprisoned Evanuris vanished from dark canvas, one by one. On fourth of Umbralis, 9440 FA, the prison will shatter. Our older daughter dies on that day, his mind’s voice told him, and our son kills our youngest daughter before committing suicide. Dirthamen caught a glimpse of a grown man, grim and desperate, and he felt ill. The change from toothless, screeching baby to a man washed red with blood – no. He forsook that scenario, not wanting to see more.

On another timeline, Solas turned against his mistress. He thought Roshan had changed, become an enemy. A slaver, he told her, as he cast the spell. A true Evanuris. He imprisoned the Emperor, but the spell took Roshan, too. The three of them were all sealed away, and Dirthamen could not break through. He ran the numbers in his mind, and the stars of his spell took another formation. The look on Dirthamen’s face was ironic but not surprised as he appraised the outcome.   
“It seems that I didn’t take that very well, either”, he muttered. “The path between madness and determination is often very narrow.”  
Roshan stirred in his arms, opening her eyes.   
“Vhenan. I thought you said something.” she said.  
Dirthamen opened his mouth, then closed it again. Because there it was. The answer. He leaned back the chair, mind quickly calculating the possibilities. _Yes_. The way was there.   
“Vhenan?” Roshan repeated, sounding worried.   
Dirthamen smiled at her. He brushed hair off her face, focusing on his wife. The Wolf was slowly waking up on the sofa.   
“I said there is a path between madness and determination.” he told her. “They are close cousins, two sides of the same coin. But a determined man, armed with hope, can beat an adversary who has strength and madness on his side. The Emperor doesn’t have anyone left to lose, while I have you, Shielan and Falon’Din. That is why I will hold on, and eventually win the fight. I cannot afford to lose.”  
“Dirthamen.” she said, her blue eyes turning wary. “No. Whatever plot you have cooked up now, _no_.”  
Alarmed by a sudden raised voice, Solas sat up on the sofa. Dirthamen ignored him. He wanted Fen’Harel to pay attention, because someone had to reverse the spell before it caused damage.   
“I’m sorry, gaidhalas.” he said honestly, pressing a kiss on her forehead.   
His eyes flashed purple, and Roshan suddenly froze in the middle of movement. Dirthamen’s lips met hard stone instead of warm skin, and he felt a stab of remorse in his heart. Fen’Harel was up now, yelling something furious as he ran across the room. Dirthamen faded away like a shadow, and Solas’ hands met nothing but air when he tried to reach for him.  


\--

“We will wait here.” Taminsan said, releasing his grip around Vivienne’s neck. The woman fell like a rag doll on hard ground, and her mouth started bleeding again. Dorian felt ridiculously grateful for the fact that he no longer had a body. Being a ghost had some advantages, even though not many.  
He did not know how long he had been inside that lyrium coffin. He remembered his own face smirking down at him before the lid was closed, the displaced feeling of being inside a wrong body, and the weight of small idol on his chest. He did not want to remember the burning feeling of red lyrium, or the pain which had made him claw his sides and legs as far as he could reach. The body Taminsan had pushed him out from was no longer as beautiful as Dorian remembered, but he was not sorry for ruining it.   
“You are a bastard.” he hissed at the elf.   
“And you are a dead man, pet.”, Taminsan replied lightly. “A bound spirit, a slave, in true Tevinter way?”  
Even though Taminsan’s tone was mocking, Dorian noticed the elf was not well. Every now and then Dorian thought he could spy a small spark flashing somewhere on Taminsan, but the light was gone so quickly he wasn’t completely certain if he had imagined the whole thing. But the Emperor appeared to be in no hurry to find Roshan and Falon’Din, the treacherous brother-in-law who was going to make another disastrous trade. No, Taminsan simply leaned against the broken stone wall and addressed Dorian in lazy drawl:   
“When we return to our own world, we shall order the dwarves to construct you a new body from gold. You will be a splendid statue in our palace garden, handsome and immortal. You can keep company for Roshan. A company of a friend, even a dead friend, will likely make her hope last longer.”  
“I can’t understand how I thought I ever loved you.” Dorian said, unable to hold back tears.  
“You were eager and desperate for someone to understand you. You wanted to fall in love, because you thought you could not survive on your own much longer. You craved us, and you still do.”, Taminsan’s lips curved into a cruel, knowing smile. “Those humans who will remain in this world will sing songs of your bravery. They will tell how magister Pavus challenged Eldest of the Sun in a duel, and how he perished with Minrathous. Your likeness will be carved in a stone. Recognition, pet. People honouring you for your actions, looking up to you and seeing someone worthy. Wasn’t that what you always wanted?”  
Dorian felt ill. The Emperor’s words were too close to the truth.   
“At least let Vivienne go.” he said, pleading.   
“We don’t want to.” the Emperor replied. “A war sparked by elves kidnapping and murdering the Divine will keep my reflection and shadow busy for centuries. Falon’Din of this world owns us one death for assisting in our murder.”  
He crouched, lifting up Vivienne’s chin. Her hands were tied behind her back, and a thin line of dark blood running from her nose had stained the scarf on her mouth. She could not speak, but she glared at the Emperor with pure hatred. Dorian felt cold fear seeping into his non-existent bones. Vivienne had hurled insults and threats at the Emperor whole way here, until he had gagged her.   
“Your lover is late, and we have had enough of your attitude.” the Emperor said, pulling something from his pocket. “Magic exists to serve man, your Chant teaches, but your services are no longer required.”  
Dorian swallowed when he realized the item Taminsan was holding was a brand. The sun-shaped tip glowed bright lyrium blue.   
“Falon’Din!” the Emperor raised his voice.   
Dorian looked around frantically. He had to do something, but what? He was incorporeal, bound, and useless like the spirit servants magisters kept to show off their abilities as mages. The Emperor waited, casting a fire spell to heat the brand.   
“Wait!” he screamed. “Up on the hill! There!” he shouted, pointing at the tall form standing there, a lonely shadow cast against the sky.   
The Emperor chuckled.   
“Perfect.”, he said in strange fondness. “A proper, dramatic entrance, complete with posturing. Finally he is willing to play with us. It should be rewarded.”  
With a decisive move, he grabbed Vivienne by shoulder, ignoring her kicks and spells which hit against his barriers, and took the brand in his free hand. She trashed, fighting back with desperation, and somehow she managed to rip the gag the fraction she needed.   
“Falon’Din!” she screamed, and the sound was unlike calm, controlled Vivienne. This was a sound of pure, primal fear. “Falon’Din!”  
The Emperor shook his head mockingly.   
“You have the wrong brother.” he told Vivienne and pressed the burning lyrium brand against her forehead.

Vivienne had fallen suddenly silent, her tears and screams cut the moment the brand touched her skin. Dorian felt numb and sick as he watched the hooded figure descending the hill in measured, calm strides.   
The newcomer paid no attention to Vivienne who was slowly rising up from the ground on shaking legs as he passed her. Stopping in front of the Emperor, he pushed the hood off his face. He was one of the twins, Dorian thought, his mind too upset to figure out which one.   
“Dirthamen”, Taminsan greeted him. “I was hoping to see your wife and brother.”  
“You lie. It was me you wanted.” Dirthamen replied. He looked at the Emperor, appraising. “Your spirit looks fractured, burned on the edges. Seeing you, I’m surprised you even managed to use an anchor to resurrect yourself.”  
“I would advise against provoking an enemy. It is commonly unwise tactic when one is facing a stronger opponent than oneself.” Vivienne said neutrally. She took a step back, then another, clearly deciding it was reasonable to avoid a potential fight.  
Dirthamen snorted disdainfully when a bright spark flared on Taminsan’s shoulder. Dorian felt a sudden influx of angry magic coming from the Emperor, and the spark disappeared.   
“Of course, you should have known better than try to take the God of Vengeance in single combat.” Dirthamen noted. “And now here you are, playing games with shemlen in desperate plea to gain attention. Pitiful.”  
The Emperor’s eyes flashed, but Dirthamen ignored him, turning towards Dorian.   
“Your situation is unfortunate, Magister Pavus.”, the Evanuris said. “As a favour for my wife, I will grant you a boon. I know the spell used on you. The predicament shall last as long as even a spark of creature calling himself Taminsan remains in flesh or in spirit, in this world or his own. When I have won and Taminsan is no more, you will know the difference. That moment you shall be free.”  
The purple eyes bore into Dorian, underlining some hidden significance in words Dirthamen said. Keeper of Secrets placed one long finger on Dorian’s lips, and Dorian startled to realize the touch felt actually solid unlike anything else since Taminsan had kicked him out from the stolen body.  
“You should be as loyal as bear. My wife sorely needs it, considering the company I left her with.” Dirthamen remarked. “She will be here soon.”  
“Watch out!” Dorian screamed as he saw a strange spell crackling on Emperor’s palm. Dirthamen turned around, opening his arms wide, and laughed.   
“Oh, _come in_.”, Dirthamen’s voice reverberated like a gleeful song. He took a step forwards, embracing the Emperor, and there was a clash of power as something black surged out from the Emperor, rushing inside Dirthamen. Dorian watched as Taminsan’s body fell on the ground, discarded like a forgotten toy, and Dirthamen fell on his knees, holding his head with both hands. The Keeper of Secrets threw his head back and howled, but the voice was not the one which had spoken moment before. This was a chaos, a choir of at least three different voices.   
“Oh, fasta vass!” Dorian cursed desperately.   


It did not take long for others to arrive. Or maybe it was an eternity. Dorian could not tell for certain how long he had watched the man trash on the ground, screaming. But eventually he heard the soft patting of paws against the ground, and saw his old friend arrive on the back of six-eyed huge wolf. Fen’Harel growled.   
“Quiet.”, Roshan said hollowly. She dismounted the wolf, looking around her. “Solas, shift back and attend Vivienne. And Dorian.” her sad gaze swept over him. “As well as you can.”  
“I’m so sorry.” Dorian said to her. “He just... opened his arms and invited Taminsan in. “  
Roshan looked down, drawing a deep breath. Her fingers curved around the staff harder, but she said nothing, just breathing.   
“I am very sorry too, Dorian. I should never have drawn you into this mess.” she finally said. “I will try to make this right, as right as it can be for you, but I must tend to my husband, first.”

The look on Roshan’s face when she knelt by Dirthamen’s side would have killed Dorian if he wasn’t already dead. Blood was running from Dirthamen’s mouth. He had bitten his lips bloody, and he stared at the sky with glazed eyes, not even registering what was happening around him.   
“Vhenan.”, she said, lifting his head up with her free hand. “Can you hear me?”  
“Gaidhalas.” he spoke so weakly Dorian could barely hear.   
“I will not forgive you for this. Ever.” Roshan said firmly, but there were tears in her eyes. “You can’t turn me into stone and run. That is unforgivable.”  
“I feared you would—“, Dirthamen began, but the sentence was interrupted. This time the depth of his voice didn’t change, but it became accented in familiar way which sent icky fingers dance on Dorian’s spine.  
“Where is the boy?” Dirthamen asked.  
“Even if you did not bother to learn the names of your children, my Dirthamen is not the father you are.” Roshan said harshly. “I will not fall into your trap, and I will not listen you bait me.”  
She raised the staff, lighting up the crystal on top of it.   
“I’m sorry for hurting you, vhenan. Please hold on. We will wait for you.” she said, choking on her tears, and hit Dirthamen on the head. His eyes rolled back, and he slumped on the ground, unconscious. Roshan hid her face against his chest and wept bitterly.


	34. Five years later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nuglet POV, since so many of you wanted more of it. What it means to have a parent who hears voices.

Even though Nuglet was just a little boy, he already knew how to tell a bad day apart from a good one. On good days, mamae smiled more and came to nursery early, so they had time to do things before Nuglet’s bedtime. When papae had a good day, mamae took Nuglet down to kitchens to bake treats, or helped him to practice his reading or magic. If there was at least two good days in a row, mamae usually brought him a new glass ball from papae. Nuglet had saved them all; Uncle had helped him to build shelves for papae’s messages. Last time they had counted, he had almost eight hundred glass balls in his room. Two rows of shelves circled the nursery. Nuglet thought that if papae continued to have so many good days, he would need to ask Uncle to build a new shelf. Last week he had gotten three balls with puzzles. He liked them even better than bedtime stories or veilfire runes, and papae had the best riddles. It had taken Nuglet a three days and lots of thought before he figured out what was light as feather, yet the strongest man couldn’t hold it for longer than few moments. Mamae had laughed when he had victoriously proclaimed the answer for her; it was breath.

In the memory stored inside yesterday’s ball, papae had said that he was very proud of Nuglet. Papae had called Nuglet his smart boy; hearing it made Nuglet feel so pleased. And then papae had given a new riddle for him: “Everyone has it and no one can lose it. What is it?” Nuglet had thought of the answer all day, and he thought that he got it.

He looked out from the window. The sun had already set, and mamae was late. Nuglet was getting impatient: the servants had already came to bathe him and give him a nightshirt, and if mamae wasn’t here before his bedtime, they wouldn’t have time to do anything fun. Grandpapae said that mamae had her hands full with Thedas, but Nuglet didn’t understand what he meant. Thedas was the name of the world; it just _was_ there, and didn’t do anything.

Nuglet waited a bit longer, but when mamae still didn’t come, he decided to go to look for her, instead. Grandpapae’s palace where they lived was big, but he knew where mamae’s room was. It was just above the library, not far from Nuglet’s nursery. Maybe some elf was again following her with a stack of papers and talking about boring things to her, even though it was Nuglet’s time with mamae. It happened sometimes. When he had been smaller, he had once bitten a stupid elf with many papers, but now he was five, and a gentleman, and gentlemen didn’t bite minions. Uncle had told him so, and Solas said that Uncle knew everything about biting minions even though he didn’t know much about being a gentleman, so it had to be true. But Nuglet had a very important thing to ask from mamae, so stupid elves with boring papers would have to wait their turn. It was his sixth birthday in two weeks, and mamae had asked him to think what he would like to have. Nuglet had decided one thing he wanted above everything else, and he wanted to tell it to mamae today. Pushing the nursery door open, he slipped into Elgar’nan’s palace.

The door to mamae’s room was slightly ajar, and when Nuglet got closer, he heard voices.  
“You could have died.” Solas’ voice was sharp and angry. “That was extremely irresponsible from you.”  
“Just heal me. I made a miscalculation; I should have expected another outbreak. It was… He had simply been doing so well lately.” mamae said, sounding hurt.  
“I told you years ago that you should have let me lock him away. For safety of us all.” Solas snapped.  
“No.”, mamae’s voice was firm. “Dirthamen needs me.”  
“Your son needs you as well. What will I tell Nuglet if I’m not fast enough to stop it next time? Will I tell him that you got killed by your own—“  
Nuglet opened the door. He was getting frightened; he needed to see mamae now. There she was, sitting on a chair. She didn’t have her shirt on, and there was something glittering on the table near Solas. But Nuglet didn’t stop to look what it was; he ran to mamae.  
“Mamae!” he crashed into her arms. “You are late! I waited and waited but you didn’t come.”  
Mamae flinched, but she wrapped her arms around Nuglet, pulling him on her lap.  
“I’m sorry, Nuglet.” she apologized. “There was an accident. Papae had a bad day.”  
Nuglet’s face fell.  
“Ah.”, he said in small voice. “So you didn’t bring me a ball today.”  
“No, da’len. I know papae is very sorry, but he simply wasn’t well enough to make you a glass ball today.” mamae said, hugging him tightly.  
“I’m going to pull out the last one out now.” Solas warned grimly.  
Nuglet felt mamae tensing. She drew a sharp breath, and her face twisted into a grimace as Solas cast a spell. Nuglet saw something sharp and glittering coming out through mamae’s skin. It was a sharp, long piece of coloured glass.  
“Was that the accident?” Nuglet asked, starting to feel very upset.  
“Yes.” Solas replied, casting a healing spell on mamae. “A window broke.”  
“Take the mess away and leave us.” mamae glared at Solas, looking angry. She turned back to Nuglet, and her expression softened.    
“How was your day, da’len? Papae wondered if you have finished your riddle yet.”  
“I know what the answer is.”, Nuglet said reservedly, watching Solas to gather the shards from the table in a basin. Mamae was trying to make him forget she was hurt, but he would not.  
“Do you want me to take it back to him tomorrow?” mamae asked.  
Nuglet looked at her sternly and slipped down from her lap.  
“I want to make a glass ball to papae. I have things to say, and I don’t want you to say them for me.”, he said, making up his mind. “Solas, can you help me?”  
Solas stopped for a moment, putting down the basin.  
“We have spoken of this before.” mamae began. “I told you that papae is sick, and he sometimes says and does bad things. It is a curse, not his fault, but it is dangerous. It is not safe for you to speak with him, because then the voices would know who you are and what you look like now. You can’t make a glass ball for him.”  
“This is what I want for my birthday.” Nuglet would not be budged. “I want to make a glass ball to speak to papae.”  
The adults looked at each other.  
“I won’t tell where I live, or anything. But I won’t let him keep hurting you, I won’t!” Nuglet’s lower lip started to tremble.  
Mamae was speechless. It was Solas, who spoke:  
“What do you want to tell your father, da’len?”  
“I don’t want any more glass balls or riddles from papae.” Nuglet said angrily. “He can’t keep hurting mamae if he has a bad day. I want to tell him that he has to stop being sick. I want him to get well enough so I can visit him on my birthday. If he can’t, nobody should visit him anymore, ever.”  
Ignoring Roshan’s pained expression, Solas nodded. There was newfound respect in his eyes when he looked Nuglet.  
“I understand, da’len. We will speak of it.” he said softly.  
Nuglet knew it was adult talk meaning they would not let him. He watched at the bloody glass shards on the table, and they made him angry.

The anger made him break Dorian’s favourite plate on purpose when he was having a late supper with Dorian and mamae. It was stupid for a spirit to have a plate anyway, because Dorian couldn’t eat. When mamae scolded him, he was defiant, and didn’t repent at all, so he got sent to his room. He was so angry that he told mamae he didn’t want good night’s kiss, or a bedtime story, and slammed the door shut when she tried to follow.

Nuglet only started to cry when he was in his own bed, the huge disappointment over papae’s bad day and mamae’s hurt making him feel very small and powerless. What if Solas was right, and mamae would get hurt so badly that she would die? Nuglet didn’t know what it felt like to have glass inside his back, but it had looked very frightening, and he didn’t have anyone else but mamae. Dorian and grandpapae were both ghosts, and Uncle was not good with children, and Solas was different sort of ghost, too, and papae was too sick to take care of him if something happened to mamae.  


The door opened, and mamae came to him, crawling into Nuglet’s bed and hugging him tightly.  
“I want papae to come back home.” Nuglet cried against mamae’s dress. “I’m tired of him being sick. I don’t want him to be sick anymore.”  
“You have been very brave.” mamae said.  
“But I don’t want to. I don’t even remember what papae looks like. I’m tired of being brave and all alone all day.” Nuglet howled. “You are always too busy, and I’m _lonely_.”  
“You are right.” mamae said suddenly. She lit up a small veilfire lamp next to Nuglet’s bedside table.  
“Your birthday is in two weeks. On next Saturday, I will take you to Tarasyl’an Tel’as to meet papae. We will have a picnic in the garden, and you can play with him. A boy should not have to spend his birthday without his papae.” mamae said firmly.  
Nuglet’s eyes widened.  
“Really?” he asked in small voice.  
“Yes.”, mamae nodded, looking stubborn. “I will tell papae tomorrow, so he knows you are coming, and he will make sure he is going to be well enough to receive a very important guest.”  
“What guest?” Nuglet didn’t quite understand.  
“You, little one. You are his most important guest.” mamae ruffled Nuglet’s black hair.  
“But what if he has a bad day instead?” Nuglet couldn’t let himself to believe just yet.  
“He won’t.”, mamae assured Nuglet. “Your papae has been getting much better lately. He is brave, and he will try his hardest to fight the curse when he knows you are coming. I promise you, Nuglet, we will go there together on next Saturday and everything will be fine.”  


\--

Roshan ignored Solas’ disapproving glare as she took Nuglet’s hand and they stepped through the eluvian. Solas did not approve of this. He had made it adamantly clear several times during the last two weeks, stopping only after when Roshan told him she was the All-Mother, who would deal with the situation as she saw best, and the topic was not open for discussion. Being forceful with Solas never paid off.

But if Roshan had learned one thing in last five years, it was that there was no such thing as a perfect choice for everyone involved. And Nuglet’s barely contained excitement told her that this had been a right decision for him, now. She smiled fondly at her small boy. Nuglet’s whole world consisted of Elgar’nan’s palace, and even there, he was restricted to nursery floor for his own safety. Wards there were strong enough to repel anything dangerous enough to get that far, even the Evanuris. The Emperor was not the only threat.

Vivienne’s fate had broken out a war between elves and humans, who blamed Falon’Din for kidnapping and making their Divine Tranquil. There was no way the Chantry would ever believe a story about the Emperor. Falon’Din lashed back violently, and the war began. It still raged on, and Falon’Din had driven the humans out of Orlais completely. His troops were marching on Denerim now, and Roshan expected to have news of Fereldan falling any day.

The elves were told that Dirthamen was working undercover, seeking secrets to help them win the war, and so far, the story had held. The truth was only known by family and those who had been there at Haven.  
“I never thought it would be so white.” Nuglet said, watching the Frostback mountains with wide eyes.  
“We have to walk a bit, so you need to dress warmly.” Roshan said, tying the strings of furry hat under Nuglet’s chin. The climate in Crossroads was always nice, but trek to Skyhold required a fur coat, boots and mittens. “The fortress where papae lives doesn’t have eluvian there.”  
“Why?” Nuglet asked with child’s innocence.  
“There was one, but it broke when the Veil fell.” Roshan smiled. “You look like Avvar hunter.”  
Nuglet smiled back to her. His eyes were lyrium blue, bright and happy, as he beamed at her.  
“Do you think papae is up yet? Can we go yet?”  
“Knowing him, he hasn’t probably slept a blink last night, just like you.” Roshan replied. “He is very excited to meet you.”  
“I’m, too.” Nuglet admitted shyly. “How old I was when he got sick?”  
“A baby of three months.” Roshan said, taking Nuglet’s hand. They started to walk the familiar path between the mountains to Skyhold. “You were in Antiva with Uncle when papae got sick, and then we moved to Elgar’nan’s palace. Papae went to Skyhold because he was too ill to come with us, and he didn’t want to go to our own house. Vivienne keeps him company in Skyhold, and Dorian, too. I visit him every day before I come to put you into bed.”  
“We have our own house?” Nuglet asked.  
“We do.”, Roshan said. “I have always thought we would move back there when papae is healthy again. It is black house in the middle of ocean, far in the south. I lived there with papae before you were born.”  
She stopped when she heard Nuglet’s excited shout. Roshan knew the cause; this was first spot where one could see Skyhold below.  
“Papae!” he shouted with childish eagerness, his voice echoing from the mountain walls. “It’s my birthday and I’m coming!”  
Roshan watched her son’s excitement, feeling love and dread fighting inside her heart. If Dirthamen could not hold on—If. No. She would trust his word in this.  
“Da’len. I know you are excited, but before we go to papae, we need to agree on few ground rules.” she said firmly. “First. If I tell you we must leave, you will come to me at once. You will not throw a tantrum, hide from me, or delay our departure in any manner. A good day can turn into a bad day very fast, and papae doesn’t want you to see him like that. It’s not really him saying and doing bad things. It’s a voice inside his head. And therefore you will not go where I can’t see you. You must stay close to me for this first visit. For example, you will not play hide and seek with papae. He is not well enough for that yet. Do you understand?”  
Nuglet nodded.  
“I promise.” he whispered, his excitement being replaced by worry. Roshan watched the childish glee vanishing from her son’s eyes, and she cursed the Emperor for thousandth time for doing this to them. For everything. But she fixed a brave smile on her face and downed a lyrium potion with a single gulp. Vivienne had called her earlier this day to confirm that Dirthamen had ingested the magebane as they had agreed. Everything which could be done to make this meeting go well, had been done.  
“Now we are ready to go to meet your father.” she said. “He promised to wait for us in the garden, and I’m sure he heard you calling.”

\--

Dirthamen was nervous as he sat in the garden, waiting. His mouth tasted like a dead rat, but he ignored it. He had drank a bucketful of magebane to be certain there would be no incidents. The window accident two weeks ago had been bad enough. He _knew_ he was finally starting to gain an upper hand against two separated voices in his head, but they had changed tactics. Now they preferred to lay low and emerge with sudden strength the moment he let his guard down. In a way, it had been easier in the beginning, when it had been just the Emperor trying to possess him.

It had been years since he had seen anyone except Roshan and the Wolf. It was because the voices agreed with him on not wanting to kill Roshan. They wanted to keep her for several disgusting and overly detailed ideas which made Dirthamen feel sick and furious. As for the Wolf, disliking him was an opinion all three of them shared, so it worked too. The shemlen were meaningless to them. Dorian was a ghost, and the Tranquil even worse.

Dirthamen did not handle well the fact he knew nothing of what had happened outside Tarasyl’an Tel’as. His entire network of spies, animals, spirits and elves alike, no longer reported to him. He had ordered it when he decided to do this and went to Haven, but ignorance still sat ill with him. He had not seen his brother for years, and he knew nothing of Roshan, either. He saw her every day, but she was careful to never tell him anything of substance. He didn’t know where she lived, what she did when she wasn’t with him, or anything, truly. He didn’t know why she looked tired when she thought he couldn’t see it, or what happened on the days when she came later than usually, followed by stern-looking Wolf.

Three years ago, when he had managed to finish what father had started and separated the Emperor into two voices, he had begun to create little reflections, Fade dreams, and put them inside glass vials. Roshan took those to their son. It was one-sided discussion, but Dirthamen wanted him to know he hadn’t forgotten. He had learned that their son liked riddles best, and was quick for his age, but not much more. And now Shielan was coming to see him. The prospect was equally terrifying and heart-warming.

“Your guests have arrived.” Vivienne said in neutral voice. Dirthamen swallowed, summoning all control he had. He pushed the voices into back of his mind and stood up nervously. His gaze searched. Roshan was coming from the direction of great hall. She looked lovely, as always.  
“I brought you a guest, vhenan.” his wife said.  
First thing he saw was something white and fluffy peeking behind Roshan’s legs and for a moment, Dirthamen was shocked. The ears. There were rabbit-like ears on creature’s head. Or nug-like, but they were definitely wrong. And the body type – this one looked round like a barrel, not elven.  
“A nug?” he blurted out the first thing coming into his mind. “Who cast the transfiguration curse? Why in the Void you didn’t tell me – Falon’Din was always hopeless with counter spelling anything.”  
The corners of Roshan’s mouth were twitching, and Dirthamen was _not_ amused.  
“You could help him with clothes. Nuglet can’t open the knots yet, and I had to dress him like an Avvar goat herder to make sure he wouldn’t get too cold.” Roshan told Dirthamen. Her eyes were twinkling with amusement.  
“I know the answer for the last riddle: Everyone has it and no one can lose it. What is it?” the white furry creature said shyly, peeking at him. “It’s a shadow.”  
“Well done.”, Dirthamen smiled, feeling proud. He gestured Nuglet to come forwards, and with little prompting, the child let him assist with winter clothes.

When he knelt down and began to untie the knot under Shielan’s chin, Dirthamen just knew she was never going to let him live this down. But there was no denying that he felt ridiculously relieved when he lifted the ugly hat off and saw a healthy little elf with perfectly ordinary ears. Shielan had inherited his black hair, but the eyes were different.  
“Lyrium blue.” Dirthamen said softly. “When I last saw you, the Titan’s blood wasn’t so clearly written on your face. Your eyes were colour of blueberries then.”  
“Grandpapae says it’s because he has the best desserts.” the child informed, offering him thick fur mittens to pull off.  
Roshan and Dirthamen exchanged a glance. She looked as stupefied as he felt.  
“Mamae can talk with you about desserts later.” Dirthamen said, starting to unbutton Nuglet’s jacket. “What would you like to do today?”  
“I’d like to make a spider.” Nuglet said. “A small one. Mamae says she doesn’t want to know how they are done, and Solas doesn’t know either.”  
“Then you simply have to overcome your fear, gaidhalas.” Dirthamen said to Roshan. “I can’t cast today.”  
“I said I want to make a spider.” Nuglet said, frowning at him. “Not mamae. Uncle says mamae is sissy about spiders. Once we hid a green furry one in her bed, and she screamed and jumped and then tried to whack Uncle on the head with a hairbrush.”  
“Do you have your magic already?” Dirthamen asked, unbelieving.  
“I’ve had it for years.” his son informed him, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked much like Falon’Din when he sulked, Dirthamen noted.  
“From four months old.” Roshan supplied dryly. “Mostly geomancy. He started making holes in the floor when he crawled over it, and it started from there. It was hellish until he started to understand speech well enough to develop some kind of rudimentary control. Only place where I could leave him for a minute was Elgar’nan’s nursery because nothing ever happened there. I didn’t know why and for years I was too tired to solve that mystery but I think I have an inkling, now…”  
“Oh, stars.” Dirthamen shook his head.  
“Yes, vhenan. Today I’m going to sit here and relax, while _you_ babysit and craft varterrals.”, Roshan said, sounding very pleased.


	35. Call me Mythal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Evanuris engage in their favourite activity: plotting.
> 
> Falon'Din decides to arrange a wake up-call for his brother. Because he's getting fed up with current situation, and when Fen'Harel asks him to make a family intervention, it's bad.
> 
> Roshan agrees to take a month off to relax and clear her head, but another unfortunate event occurs. Also, she realizes that stupidity is real turn-off in a man.
> 
> Nuglet does not like the hand holding champion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spotify found me perfect song, "Gone" by Beth Crowley to describe Roshan's current state of mind. The Emperor would appreciate.
> 
> "My greatest love is gone  
> You took him far away  
> He sits right next to me  
> But he’ll never be the same  
> You thief you found my weakness  
> And you went on the attack  
> But look over your shoulder  
> See my target on your back"
> 
> Lyrics are here http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/bethcrowley/gone.html  
> and the song https://youtu.be/3SpikQ3erXM

The news Falon’Din brought from the battlefront were not good.  
“Qunari uprising? You got to be kidding me.”, Roshan groaned. “I thought they all died when the Veil came down.”  
“Most of them did, but the ones who survived are plain mean. Wait, sister. It only gets better.” Falon’Din raised the palm of his hand. “The king of Ferelden is a half-blood templar, and his elven mother has developed a tentative truce with Ghilan’nain’s followers. They are not allies per se, but they share a common enemy.”  
“Me.”  
“Yes, you.” Falon’Din grinned. “The high priests of my forcibly retired brothers and sisters really hate you, or Fen’Harel actually, but because everyone knows you hold his leash, you get the hate.”  
“How lovely.” Roshan said dryly.  
“So, the Fereldan has the remaining Chantry forces of south, surviving Qunari saarebas, some Chantry-aligned mages and a special monster Ghilan’nain was rumoured to have created just before her second imprisonment. King Alistair does not trust my mercy after Redcliffe purge, so he has decided to approach another ruling power instead. Following her mother’s advice, which comes from Ghilan’nain’s High Priest, he has challenged you to a duel.”  
“Against him?”  
“No. Against Ghilly’s monster on next Saturday.” Falon’Din said happily. “I took the liberty of accepting on your behalf. It’s perfect opportunity to confirm your divinity for the masses.”  
“Oh, by the lost Dales. Do we have any idea of what kind of monster it is?”  
“Nope. Our spy network isn’t what it used to be. But I don’t think Ghilan’nain’s people would have agreed to borrow the monster if they weren’t fairly confident of its ability to kill you. Of course, you could always use a champion. That’s what they are for.”, Falon’Din advised.  
“I think I have just the right one in mind.” Roshan said thoughtfully. She pulled her sylvanwood ring off her forefinger and called for a servant to come.  
“Take this to Warden-Commander Tabris and ask him to attend me.”, she instructed the servant, who curtsied and left.  
Falon’Din's interest stirred.  
“Warden-Commander Tabris? I believe I’ve met the fellow. Isn’t he the one who is credited for slaying the archdemon?”  
“I thought it would make a statement to have the Hero of Ferelden to fight as my champion.” Roshan said.  
“How do you even know him?”  
“I allied with Wardens during the Inquisition. They were grateful for me letting them stay. And when Darrion came back from his quest to end the Calling, he wanted to thank me for looking out for them. He is a good ally.” Roshan replied.  
There was a faintest shade of blush on her skin, making her seem a bit more alive than Falon’Din had seen since Dirthamen did the Stupid Thing. Good to know, he decided, and a plan started to form in his mind.

Even though five and half years were nothing in a lifetime of an immortal, there was nothing likable in current situation, and Falon’Din preferred how things had been before. He knew his brother; Dirthamen was the type who would sit on his ass and just wail his sorry fate for years if he was left on his own. Falon’Din wanted to have his brother back without any extra voices so he could slip back to his preferred routine of annoying Roshan and sleeping between them during the night and provoking his brother. _Yes._ That was it. Provoking his brother. Falon’Din recalled what Warden-Commander Tabris looked like, and he almost laughed out loud. Oh, it was perfect.  
Roshan looked at him, clearly puzzled on why he was suddenly laughing, and Falon’Din made a quick save:  
“Oh, you are a shrewd one, Roshie. Warden King against Warden Commander. This is going to be such fun.”  
“I wouldn’t call it fun, but Ghilan’nain’s monster can’t be worse than an archdemon.” Roshan said thoughtfully.

The business part finished, they soon decided it was time for leisure and relaxation. Or, like Roshan had once dubbed it, the monthly meeting of Imperial hate club. Even though they both tried to avoid the subject, they always ended up having the same discussion. Falon’Din had refused to see Vivienne even once after what had happened, and Roshan kept trying to change his mind.  
“Won’t you please reconsider?” Roshan asked, even though she knew the answer.  
“No.”, Falon’Din replied, cracking open a bottle of wine. “Nothing in the whole world will make me go there and pretend to interact with dead people.”  
“Neither of them is dead. Dirthamen is just...”  
“Raving mad.”, Falon’Din supplemented.  
“Vivienne isn’t mentally ill.”, Roshan pointed out with annoyed glance.  
“No, she’s mentally empty.” Falon’Din replied bitterly. “And before you say that she could be healed with brief possession, no. You know how she was about spirits and possession. “  
He summoned two glasses. Pouring wine, Falon’Din announced:  
“I will not go there, ever, and that’s it. You should stop going there, too.”  
“What?” Roshan’s eyes widened. This was new, a break from the conversation they repeated every month when Falon’Din came to visit her and Nuglet.  
“What’s the use?” Falon’Din asked. “I doubt it makes any difference if you go there or not. Dirthamen will get better on his own, or he won’t. It might take centuries. The whole thing was his stupid, fucked-up idea.”  
“I can’t forsake him now.” Roshan said helplessly.  
“Most of the time, he barely notices if you are there or not. And the rest of the time the Imperial Bastard tries to kill you.” Falon’Din said sharply.  
Roshan went quiet, and Falon’Din shook his head.  
“Yes, the window. I’ve heard all about it. Even Nuglet told me about that one when I checked on him in the Fade. He was having a bad dream. Solas says that it’s getting worse.”  
“He is getting better, I swear.” Roshan said stubbornly. “It’s bad just now because the voices are resisting—“  
“Hello, Roshie!” Falon’Din cut in forcefully. “The Dread Wolf came to search me in Fade, begging me to come over and talk some sense into you.”  
Tears were welling in her eyes, now. Falon’Din hated weepy people, but he soldiered on.  
“Even if it isn’t Dirthamen who keeps trying to murder you, do you really think you can ever be happy with someone you have nightmares about? “  
Roshan’s eyes flashed.  
“You have no right—“  
“It’s not about right, but ability. Would you prefer that Solas watched over you instead? Or Nuglet, waking up to your screaming in the middle of a night and then going to Fade to ward off a dream where daddy strangles mommy and calls her his sweet one?”, Falon’Din moved to a killing blow.  
The woman in front of him crumbled in seconds. She fought for breath, fought against tears, but failed. Even though Falon’Din had enough of weepy people in his day job - not many died happily – and refused to comfort any of them, this one time he made an exception.  
“Hush, Roshie.” he said, pulling her into a hug. “It’s all right.”  
“But I can’t leave him alone with the Emperor.” she wept against Falon’Din’s shoulder. “I couldn’t bear it. Nuglet was so happy to see him, and Dirthamen still keeps talking about it. I can’t tell Nuglet he can’t go there.”  
“You need to take time off, Roshie. Your nightmares are disturbing my nightly visitations to other people, ruining my sex life and acquisition of new converts.” Falon’Din told her.  
She snorted incredulously through tears.  
“Of all the people… You and your sex life.” she cursed.  
“You haven’t had any in years, so you are in no position to judge.” Falon’Din stated. “I, at least, have moved on. But we can talk about that later. Now we’ll negotiate.”  
“First you make me cry, and then you want to negotiate?” Roshan sniffed. “Couldn’t you have gotten me drunk first?”  
“I’ll get you drunk after. It’s very simple thing I want. You take a month off, starting on tomorrow. No asylum visits. Try to relax a bit. Do something fun for a change? I will take Nuglet to madhouse every Saturday for two hours, and your Wolf will visit daily to provide whatever they need there.” Falon’Din said.  
“A month?” she repeated carefully.  
“One month.” Falon’Din nodded. “It’s not much to ask, is it?”  
“No, it isn’t.”, Roshan said uncertainly. “But there is a catch here somewhere, isn’t there?”  
“I only have my brother’s best interest in mind.” Falon’Din said innocently. It _was_ true.

 

\--

 

Next evening, Darrion Tabris sauntered through the halls of All-Mother’s palace with same confidence he held on a battlefield. His Wardens marched after him. He nodded to guards at the door and grinned at Solas, who was as unhappy to see him as always. The man always reminded Darrion of a cranky duenna keeping watch on his precious charge. All-Mother’s Wolf was not an easy obstacle to pass.  
“Hello.”, he flashed a grin at Solas. “I came to report to All-Mother.”  
“It’s too late. You may return later.” the bald elf informed him coolly.  
That was the line Darrion had waited for. He removed his gauntlet and pulled a wooden ring off his little finger. Holding it between thumb and forefinger, he pushed the ring close enough for Solas to see the carvings.  
“All-Mother said that I was required to report at once, regardless of the hour of my arrival.”  
Solas’ eyes narrowed. Wordlessly, he nodded to guards standing by the doorway leading to upper floor.  
“Glad that we could agree.” Darrion grinned. “Wardens, dismissed.”

He climbed up the spiralling staircase and found not a hallway like he had expected, but a garden. The architecture of ancient elves was boggling. They put water and trees everywhere, and Darrion had never seen a single rectangular door in any of their buildings. But gods were strange lot. Everyone knew it, and when Darrion went towards the voices he heard behind a group of trees, his claim was more than confirmed.  
All-Mother knelt by stream, a little boy by her side. She sank both hands under water and raised them up, blowing gently into water in her cupped hands. A glimmering form, looking like a bird, rose from her hands and took flight before dissolving into water once more. The crystalline drops fell on mother and son, and the small elf laughed. The dark man lounged on the grass, his eyes half-closed and hands crossed under his neck. For a moment, Darrion felt uncertain. There were rumours circulating about All-Father, whom nobody had seen for years, but the likeness between the child and this man… Of course. This one was probably the God of Death. Uncle.  
“Another, mamae!” the child begged eagerly. “Make another.”  
“One more.” All-Mother promised. She looked up, seeing Darrion, and smiled a lovely, mischievous smile. She sank her hands under surface again, and this time, a griffon sprang to life. It was magnificent beast, which flew straight towards him until it suddenly exploded into a spray of water right above him. Cold water. Darrion was drenched, and All-Mother laughed. She had a beautiful laugh, he thought, even though he was busy cursing and trying to wrench water off his cloak before his armor got rusted  
“Mamae.”, the little boy said disapprovingly. “That was naughty.”  
“Indeed.” the dark man said, smirking. He looked too pleased. What in the Void was wrong with that one?  
“I should not have done it.”, All-Mother agreed as she stood up. She didn’t look regretful at all, Darrion noted. He quite liked the mischievous flash he had seen, even though he knew better than fancy this one. His meeting with Morrigan had opened his eyes, even though a bit too late. He felt a warm wind starting to blow from the north, and suddenly he was dry again, without a single drop of water anywhere on his clothes or hair. Mages.  
“Shielan, Falon’Din will put you to sleep. Mamae has work to do.”, she kissed the little boy.  
“Should I be worried about another griffon?” Darrion asked as she walked towards him.  
“I’m sure you could handle it.”, she said lightly.  
“For you, my lady, I’d try.” he flashed a confident grin.  
Darrion offered his arm for her – he had not been raised in a barn, Cyrion had made sure of that – and All-Mother blinked. Then she gracefully accepted, and started to guide them along a path leading towards northeast.

 

“Who was that?” Nuglet asked from Uncle as mamae left with a strange man.  
“It was Roshie’s champion.”  
“What is a champion?”  
“He defends her honor and fights her enemies.” Uncle explained. “I used to have several.”  
“Did you hold hands with them, too?” Nuglet requested.  
“Oh, no.”, Uncle responded readily.  
“Why that man wanted to hold hands with mamae?” Nuglet asked unhappily, staring after them. He was not pleased. Mamae hadn’t gone to see papae today, for first time ever, and now there was a strange _champion_ wanting to hold hands. He didn’t know what was going on, but he didn’t like it.  
“He is going to fight a great monster for her on Saturday, you know. We could go to watch.” Uncle suggested.  
“But Saturday is the day when mamae takes me to see papae. We’ve been there every week since my birthday.” Nuglet grew alarmed.  
“Yes, but these things doesn’t really follow a schedule.” Uncle shrugged. “I’ll take you instead. Roshie is too busy. Work, you know.”  
Nuglet pouted. This was not good. Not good _at all_.

 

“The Order requests your help in a confidential issue.” Darrion said as they walked slowly along the lined paths of the garden. “Do you remember the reports I told you about? The strange pattern in darkspawn movements?”  
“Yes. They were disturbing.” All-Mother replied. “Have you learned of anything new?”  
“Weisshaupt has compared reports. The darkspawn are moving towards a certain location. A location of an Old God.”, Darrion told her. “The Order has always known where the remaining two are, but attempts to reach them in time have been too costly so far. Now… I don’t know if we can afford not to try.”  
“It’s Razikale, isn’t it?” All-Mother asked sadly, like she already knew the answer.  
“It is the Dragon of Mystery, yes.” Darrion nodded grimly. “  
“And what it is what you want from me?”  
“We need assistance. Knowledge. Last time I killed an archdemon, I survived because I was offered a ritual to cheat death. Urthemiel’s essence was given to an unborn child. ”, Darrion said uncomfortably. He sneaked a look at All-Mother, who seemed unfazed.  
“I’m aware of that.” she replied calmly. “I was there when Old God’s soul was removed from your son.”  
“We never—“, Darrion began but thought better of it. “What I meant to say is that the world cannot bear another Blight. Not now with all the changes. There is a war, demons and spirits everywhere, magic has gone mad and population has barely survived the Fall. And the Order knows. Morrigan told me.”  
“The Order knows what?” All-Mother looked at him coolly.  
“Morrigan told me that the ritual was designed by Flemeth. And we know who Flemeth was. It didn’t take that much to fit the pieces together.” Darrion replied, not willing to feel threatened. “Everyone knows you drank from the Well. You closed the Breach, died more times than anyone can even count, and now you are worshipped as a god who took Mythal’s titles and joined the ranks of Evanuris without any of them questioning your right. Morrigan told me that she feared Flemeth would kill her to prolong her own life unnaturally. It’s clear to me that Flemeth, Mythal, whatever she was, picked you instead, and you have played me a fool.”  
He was unable to keep the scowl off his face. Darrion had a crush on her before he found out the truth, and now he felt like idiot.  
“So you think I’m Mythal?” All-Mother arched her perfect eyebrows in very believable surprise.  
“Don’t try to deny it.”, Darrion said sharply. “The Order knows. If the people knew you pretend to be married to your own son, who has conveniently disappeared, they would not love you so. Or the boy. I pity the poor thing the day he learns the truth. I already killed you once when you called yourself Flemeth, and I’m more than willing to do it second time.”  
All-Mother’s expression was very strange, but Darrion ignored it. Flemeth had always been odd, and it seemed the oddness just followed the witch from vessel to vessel.  
“We will go public with this if you don’t help us. Come with us to Razikale, and help us to destroy the dragon without provoking a Blight. The Architect made the mistake of approaching Urthemiel. It was a tainted creature, and therefore blighted Urthemiel. I cannot take the risk of Warden accidentally corrupting Razikale. Therefore we need you. You have the necessary skills and knowledge, and you cannot afford not to help us.”  
“When we leave?”  
Darrion blinked.  
“That’s it?”  
“What else you require? Cackling? Annoying riddles which confound you until you are ready to rip your hair off? Naked dancing under the moon?” All-Mother asked, clearly annoyed. “You said that I cannot afford not to help you. I agree. Razikale _cannot_ be lost to Blight.”  
Darrion just stared at her.  
“By the lost Dales. To think I almost fancied you, and now you were revealed to be a moron.” she muttered venomously. “Get your party together and start packing. You will duel Ghilan’nain’s monster on my behalf on Saturday. You can conscript King Alistair since he is still a Warden, and we take off from the party afterwards. Try not to appear dumb in public, because I have to let people think I’m shagging you. Otherwise they wonder where I went.”  
All-Mother pointed at the pond in front of her, and the water disappeared, revealing a staircase.  
“This entrance will lead you to public floor of the palace. We meet on Saturday in Denerim.”  
“All right.” Darrion said, still a bit uncertain. “What will you do?”  
“I'll try to find a reliable babysitter. Plan the route so that we’ll get to Razikale within a month.” All-Mother informed him dryly and left.


	36. The One and the Other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirthamen continues to struggle with voices inside his head.

_I miss you, gaidhalas. Where are you? Are you all right? I’ve been trying to remember if something went wrong last time you were here, but I can’t recall anything, no matter how hard I try. If they hurt you again, I beg your forgiveness. Please come back._  
  


 

“And now we are asking the Wolf to carry a soppy love note. How pathetic.” the One sighed.   
“This is all time low.” the Other confirmed. “No wonder we’ve been dumped.”  
Usually Dirthamen did not bother speaking with the voices, but it had been four days since he had last seen Roshan, and he was getting anxious.   
“You know nothing about love. You ate the soul of your own lover!” Dirthamen snapped.  
“It was exquisite.” the One said dreamily.   
“We could eat her together. I have never eaten anyone.” the Other said. “It’s likely better to be the eater.”  
“She would never leave us again.”  
“We could keep her.”  
“We should eat her.”   
Quietly, Dirthamen guided his magic towards the place where the voices hid, and then unleashed a spell of pain. He didn’t feel a slightest bit of remorse when they started to scream, even though it made his head hurt. The bastards.

\--

The party was in full swing. Darrion Tabris drank a glass of white wine and looked around. It was miraculous how many things had changed in a decade. Elves, dancing and chatting in Halamshiral, while few uncomfortable-looking humans stood near the wall and tried act relaxed.   
“They are new. Ambassadors from Nevarra.” All-Mother mentioned as they stood on the balcony. She looked very beautiful in flowing robe of deep gold, but Darrion had a feeling she wasn’t really paying attention to her surroundings.   
“Worried about tomorrow, All-Mother?” he asked.   
“Hardly.”, she replied distantly. “You should call me Roshan. Using my title gives too formal impression if we are overheard.”  
“I’m facing an unknown monster and you aren’t even worried?”  
“You attempted to blackmail me, and threatened to disturb my five-year-son with degenerate slur story about his parents.” Roshan replied calmly. “So if you die, I have one enemy less. If you survive, the beast will be dead, war ends, and you will assist me in saving Razikale.”  
She shrugged carelessly.   
“Either way, I win.” she gave him a sharp smile.   
“Ouch!” Darrion exclaimed. “You are surprisingly mean person. I thought you were supposed to be the nice Evanuris.”  
“If you wanted to meet a nice Evanuris, your approach was wrong.” she said, smiling sweetly.   
“A dance?” Darrion suggested, taking her hand. “Lovers should dance.”  
She nodded unhappily.

“If you step on my toes, it will hinder my ability to fight tomorrow.” Darrion whispered against the soft skin of her neck when he pulled her close. He liked the perfume she wore.   
“If you try to smooch me, your tongue will fall off.”, Roshan promised, almost purring in his ear.   
“I knew I would Ignite passion in you.” Darrion smiled, and slipped his hand on her ass as they danced past some Dalish. For old, undead woman, she surely had a nice, firm ass. As a reward, he felt a sudden, strong surge of electricity on his cock. It made him almost yelp and forget his steps.   
“If you want to play with an Evanuris, you must try harder than this.” Roshan hissed through red lips and left him alone on the dance floor as the song ended.  
Darrion Tabris shook his head slowly as he watched her go. This was going to be interesting.

\--

The note burned in her pocket when Roshan slipped away from the party. If she was quick, her disappearance would not be noted by Solas or Falon’Din. She needed to see Dirthamen and ask about Razikale before tomorrow. And she needed him, as pitiful it was to admit. Sometimes Roshan felt like an idiot for not being able to act like Falon’Din. Her brother-in-law had made a clean cut when he found out about Vivienne’s fate, and on bad days, Roshan cursed herself for not doing the same thing. Their supposed victory over the Emperor was hollow as long as there was a malicious impostor wearing the face of the man she loved.

They had already lost so much. Years of Nuglet’s childhood, too many meetings where the Emperor had suddenly surged, taking advantage of her foolish trust, all those days when she had struggled to establish some kind of control over the power vacuum Elgar’nan had left in his passing. She had to, because no new power would suffer remnants of old rule. Anyone wanting to rise in place of Evanuris would have needed to remove her family from the equation, first. So she had become what she had to be.

Much like Dirthamen’s, some days were good for Roshan and some less so. Today was not a good day. She hated pretending to be a shark when she was not. Roshan was able to play the Game if she had to, but being vicious was not in her nature. She wanted... Her fingers curled around the note in her pocket as she hurried through the snow towards Tarasyl’an Tel’as. It hardly mattered what she wanted, because it was something she could not have as long as the Emperor was in the picture. Roshan had a job to do: she was going to Deep Roads tomorrow, to save Dirthamen’s soul anchor before it become tainted.   
“I will not linger.” she said out loud, needing to hear it. “I will just ask what I need to know and go back.”  
Go back to the hateful party where stupid Grey Warden thought he could grope her for show, the rebellious streak in her muttered. This holiday was stupid idea. She didn’t need a holiday, or white wine or fake dates with Grey Wardens. She needed her husband back.

When Roshan pushed open the door to her old quarters in Skyhold, Dirthamen was asleep by the desk. His notes were scattered across the floor, and the ink had left markings on his face. A good day, Roshan realized with relief as she picked up one of the parchments. The voices were not interested in manual tasks like writing. They considered it below them.   
“Vhenan.”, she called softly.  
Dirthamen stirred. He lifted up his head, tired eyes focusing on her slowly.   
“Gaidhalas.”, a wonderful smile lit up his face. “You came.”  
Roshan felt a sharp stab on her conscience, and she looked down, feeling terrible.   
“Did I hurt you?” Dirthamen asked anxiously. “What did I do? I can’t recall, but whatever it was, I’m sorry.”  
She looked up again, seeing the worry in his familiar face, and she couldn’t bear it. She broke into run, crossing the room in few steps across the Fade, and flew into his arms.   
“I missed you.” she said, throwing her arms around him. “You did nothing wrong.”  
“Is it true?” he asked uncertainly.   
“It wasn’t anything you did. Other family business.” Roshan assured him. She couldn’t recall the last time she had been so close to him. Years ago. Before Haven. She could feel the warmth of him through the black velvet robe as she pressed her cheek against his shoulder. It felt so good. Stars. She breathed his familiar scent, and when she angled her head a bit to get closer, she accidentally brushed her lips against his as they moved at the same time.  
Both of them froze for a moment. A wonderful, truly stupid, but utterly irresistible idea came to Roshan, and her lips curved in a smile. _Yes._ The rebellious part of her cheered.   
“Gaidhalas.”, Dirthamen warned, recognizing the expression. His warning came out a lot weaker than it should have been. The idea was plain terrible, but--  
“You should just lay on your back and focus on self-control. The rest, we can blame on Falon’Din’s white wine.” Roshan said. The pupils of her eyes had dilated until there was only a thin circle of blue remaining, Dirthamen noted.   
“You don’t even drink white.” he groaned as they stumbled backwards and he hit his legs against the bed.   
“You, my love, are still frighteningly smart. Unlike the idiot I have to put up with.” Roshan told him. She kissed him, wrapping her legs around his waist. Her magic, which reminded Dirthamen of woods and flowers and the deepest Fade, tinged on his skin. He kissed her, and when her lips opened for him, he let himself fall on the bed, taking her with him. He kissed her again, pulling up the hem of her robes to draw the rune of relocation on the golden fabric. When her clothes disappeared, she chuckled.   
“This is a terrible idea.” he told her honestly as his hands stroked her bare skin, fingers brushing against a nipple. He felt her magic changing directions, a tentative light touch of her fingertips as she pulled the clothes over his head and threw them on floor.   
“I know.” Roshan said, her eyes sparkling. “It’s wonderful.”  
“What did you do?” he murmured against her neck, enjoying the feel of her bare skin against his as he pressed hungry kisses on the crook of her neck.   
“Falon’Din made me promise that I would take time off. I was supposed to relax. Have a holiday. I ran to you instead.” she confessed as her cheeks grew flushed and rosy.   
“And the stupid man?” he requested.   
“He thinks I’m your mother.” her face twisted in annoyance.  
Dirthamen laughed freely.   
“What a fool. Come here, gaidhalas.” he invited her. “Since I’m your holiday fling, there are few suggestions I’d like to make. For safety.”  
He whispered his list in her ear, and was rewarded by pleased, slow smile.   
“Good thinking, vhenan.” Roshan purred. “Now raise your arms above your head.”  
Later, when Dirthamen’s body strained against his bindings and he almost cried out aloud feeling her mouth on him, teasing and torturing, he cursed his own cleverness. There was such thing as being too smart for one’s own good. But no defeat had ever tasted so sweet as the moment when she collapsed on him, spent and exhausted, a thin layer of sweat glistening on her skin.  
“Free me.”, he pleaded, because he wanted to hold her. Love and lust shimmered around them in air, a book open for him to read, and their magic melt together in harmony.   
“Yes.”, Roshan whispered, and the bindings were broken.   
Dirthamen held her, and when sleep took him into Fade, he found her from there again.

 

It was still dark when Dirthamen woke up to voices.   
“Are you certain?” he heard his wife ask. “I thought you had warded your anchor against everyone else.”  
To Dirthamen’s horror, the voice replying was coming from his own lips, but not by his will.   
“Of course. But you can approach Razikale safely if you cast the spell I taught to you“, his voice said.  
The One and the Other. The bastards had taken over while he slept, taking advantage of his shattered control. And what this was about Razikale? Dirthamen felt like he was under the surface of water, watching the conversation but unable to participate and he panicked.   
His wife was dressing up. Her hair was falling on her shoulders, and her lips were still swollen and red.   
“So I find Razikale and cast the spell, and then it will follow me so I can take it to safety?” Roshan asked.  
“Yes.” the One and the Other asserted.   
“What happens if I can’t get to Razikale in time? If your anchor becomes tainted, will it make the possession worse?” Roshan’s expression was worried.  
“Losing even one anchor would be hard. Losing two could be fatal. You must be very careful to cast the spell exactly like I taught.” his voice stated.  
Inside his body, Dirthamen was screaming. He beat against the invisible walls, attacking them furiously.   
“I will be. You freed me from the Well; I will save your anchor and find a way to help you.” she said, looking lovely and determined. “Can we go over it one more time before I leave?”  
The spell, much to Dirthamen’s horror, didn’t have anything to do with controlling another person’s soul anchor or calming a dragon. The language was foreign dialect which sounded magnificent but had no shared vocabulary with elvish. Dirthamen laid there, frozen and unable to act, and listened his wife repeat an incantation once used by Parladian peasants who wanted to summon earthworms for fishing.

 


	37. The escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirthamen has had enough of the voices inside his mind. Falon'Din is worried about latent paternal instincts.

Focus. Dirthamen needed to focus. This was not the moment to panic, even though he had an irresistible urge to bash his head against the wall.   
“We could have a baby!” the Other sang happily. “No, we are going to have a baby!”  
“Magic-suppressing ropes and infertility spell, anyone?” the One cackled. “A basic rookie mistake. How embarrassing.”  
“Shut up!” Dirthamen roared.   
He hid his face against his hands, cursing.   
“I swear to stars, you are worse than the Well of Sorr—“  
Dirthamen’s eyes snapped open. Of course. How he could have been so blind? He _had_ a spell tailored for getting rid of unwanted voices inside one’s mind. It was the spell he had developed to break Roshan free from the Well of Sorrows. Tried and tested on seventeen Mythal’s servants before her.   
“No.”, the Other said quickly. “It hurts, remember? They all screamed.”  
“Even if you got rid of us, it will change nothing.” the One snarled. “We will have our revenge.”  
“After all you have done, there is nothing I wouldn’t do to hurt you.” Dirthamen said viciously and began to cast.  


\--

Nuglet was cranky and tired. He had woken up in middle of night because he had a bad dream about evil goats, but mamae had not been in her own bed when he came to look for her. Nuglet had stayed there and waited and waited, and it had taken awfully long for before mamae had slipped in her bedroom. It was clear that her attention was not on Nuglet, because she didn’t really listen his explanation about evilness of goats and how mamae should banish them from their realm. Mamae was undressing and putting on a nightgown, when Nuglet spied a piece of paper she was taking from the pocket of her golden dress.   
“What is that?” Nuglet asked judgementally.   
“If I tell you, you must promise not to tell anyone.” mamae said, carefully folding the little note and putting it in a little box she kept on her desk. Nuglet knew the combination to open it. Seven-Five-Six-Eleven.  
Nuglet nodded.   
“It’s a love note.” she answered.   
“Love notes are disgusting.” Nuglet said sullenly. “I don’t want you to get love notes.”  
“But it was a very good one.” mamae smiled as she laid down the bed.   
“From the handholding man?” Nuglet asked, unwilling to be coerced.   
“Stars, no.”, she chuckled. “From papae, you silly boy. Your papae wrote me a love note.”  
“Then it’s all right.” Nuglet decided, relaxing against her. “You can get as many love notes from papae as you want, but none from the handholding man. I don’t want to have a new papae.”  
“There is no need for you to worry about that.” mamae said gently, stroking his hair. “But da’len, there is something important I need to tell you. Later today, after the meeting in Denerim, I’m leaving for a journey with Grey Wardens. A work thing. It will take a month, and Uncle will stay to take care for you in the meantime. I need you to be a good boy for him.”  
“Can I come with you?”  
“No. It is too dangerous. There will be fighting, Nuglet, and it is not for little boys.” mamae’s eyes were serious. “I must save something which is very important for papae. He can’t go because he is too sick, so I will go on his stead.”  
“Can I talk to you through a crystal?” Nuglet asked in a small voice.  
“No, dearest. Crystals don’t work where I’m going.” mamae held him tightly against her chest. “But I will think of you every day. I promise.”  
Nuglet started to cry.   


Nuglet waved to mamae when she left with Solas and her soldiers, even though his lips trembled and he tried very hard not to cry while people watched. Sun glinted off her armor and she didn’t look like mamae at all. His breath came too fast, and he felt like his heart was going to break. He held Uncle’s hand and they stood there as mamae rode away.   
He was on the edge of breaking down when someone came to talk to Uncle about troop movements, but Uncle dismissed her with a sharp gesture, picking up Nuglet.   
“That will wait until later. I have other pressing issues to attend.” he informed the warrior priest and turned away.   
Uncle had long legs, and he was much faster walker than Nuglet. He got them around corner, out from view, before Nuglet broke down in desolate cry. Tears started to flow from his eyes, and they ran across his cheeks, and it felt like he couldn’t breathe. Uncle patted his back, and didn’t even complain even though Nuglet got snot on him.   
“Watching them ride off was no easier when we were small.” he said. “I usually took it worse than Dirth. He always tried to cheer me up.”  
“What did papae do?”  
Uncle snorted.   
“We slipped into nearest village and Dirthamen sweet-talked someone into giving me baked rolls for free. With time, he perfected the thing into blasted art. How to tell who was most likely to give us treats – spotting the hobby bakers – how to make halla eyes on old grannies... It was grand until one time we accidentally picked the same village which Father was attempting to conquer. The wife of enemy commander offered us cinnamon rolls and captured us while we ate. It was our first hostage experience at grand age of eight years. I don’t recommend trying that.”  
“What happened?” Nuglet asked wide-eyed.  
“Mother stormed in and killed everyone before we got seriously hurt. She made us swear never do it again, never tell Father, and then she told Father we were old enough for pocket money. There is no such thing as free baked roll, she said. You should remember that one.” Uncle advised.   
Nuglet nodded solemnly.   
“Fuck. I’m surprisingly good at this parenting business.” Uncle said, looking worried. “It’s not even midday and I’ve already given you excellent advice and wiped your nose. I had a mistress once who was convinced that if I just gave myself a chance, my latent paternal instincts – which I _don’t_ have - would wake up. Best tits of that Age, but no brains at all. I have to take you to Dirthamen before something happens.”  


\--

A recent history of madness was useful, Dirthamen noted, to explain disturbing noises coming from his bedroom. Nobody came to inquire about screaming or disembodied voices. He wiped his hands clean and gave one last smirk to the One and the Other who were, for once, silent. Good riddance.   
“As pleasing it would be to stay and gloat at you, I must be on my way.” he made a flowery bow to his beaten enemies and skirted off, legs clicking against the floor. The stone was ringing with steps coming up the stairs. Dirthamen arranged his limbs into sad little heap against the wall and let his head fall aside.

There wasn’t a knock on the door, like usually. The door was just flung open, and it hit the wall with a bang.   
“By Holy Maker, Dirth.” Falon’Din took one look at the wall and stopped, shaking his head.  
“Papae?” a small voice asked behind Falon’Din, and Dirthamen wanted to curse out loud. This was not going at all what he had planned. He had expected Solas. Not his brother, whom he hadn’t seen for years, and especially not his son. Why wasn’t Falon’Din doing anything? The idiot!

Deciding to draw Nuglet’s attention to something else than a naked man nailed to wall upside down – he might have gotten a bit carried away with torture runes on his former body - , Dirthamen rose on his five feet and straggled pitifully across the floor towards Nuglet, limping.  
“Oh, no!” Nuglet pushed past Falon’Din and picked him up.  
Finally his brother turned, paying attention. Inwardly, Dirthamen was fuming. Why Falon’Din let Nuglet pick up potentially hostile and deceptive things like him? What was Roshan thinking, letting Nuglet come to visit him with Falon’Din?  
“What’s that?” Falon’Din looked down his nose on Dirthamen.  
“It’s my baby varterral. I built it with papae, but someone has stomped on it. The leg is broken.” Nuglet looked sad.   
Dirthamen made a sad swooshing noise, trembling pitifully.   
“I need to talk with your father. Go somewhere and wait.” Falon’Din said, pushing Nuglet and him out from the door. Dirthamen let out a breath as the door closed behind them. He hated plotting on the fly, but so far, this was going well. Or, at least, it could have gone far worse.

Nuglet walked down the stairs, and Dirthamen trembled. Why nobody had ever thought of installing a railing on the right side of staircase? Or an invisible wall between the stairs and long drop to cellars. Even though Dirthamen had lived in Tarasyl’an Tel’as almost six years, he had never thought of how badly built place it was. Maybe being considerably smaller than usually and being carried by someone he mostly remembered as a screeching tiny thing was affecting his view. Not being possessed by two evil voices was likely a factor, too. Three pieces of twin souls did not fit comfortably inside one vessel. It irked him to understand how fogged his mind had been for all these years.

“I will fix your leg.”, Nuglet said, patting him lightly on his head. He continued towards the Undercroft, trying to push open the heavy door. It wouldn’t budge, and Nuglet’s lower lip started to tremble suspiciously. When the boy turned away, clearly planning to go back and ask help from Falon’Din, Dirthamen cast a quick spell at the door.  
Nuglet turned around, looking at the suddenly opened door and then at Dirthamen. Dirthamen just kept his expression blank. Varterrals weren’t very expressive creatures anyway.   
“I didn’t know you could do that.” Nuglet frowned, looking thoughtful.   
His son was intelligent for his age, Dirthamen thought fondly. He attempted to stand up on Nuglet’s hand and transferred all his weight on the bad leg, letting out a pitiful screech as he fell. Varterrals didn’t have a nerve system for pain – it would have been counterintuitive to their originally intended purpose – but six-year-olds, even smart ones, didn’t know that. Nuglet’s lyrium-blue eyes became worried, and he hurried through the doorway to Undercroft.   
“I will help you.” he promised eagerly.

 

 

Nuglet was balancing on his toes, trying to reach for a chisel on a high shelf. He was small for his age, and needed boxes to climb on. He had found only two, and now he thought he needed a third.   
“That looks dangerous.” papae’s voice said behind him. “When I come back, I have to teach you the stair spell. It is much safer.”  
A hand caught him and pulled him down safely. Nuglet didn’t remember ever touching papae before, and he didn’t understand how papae was suddenly here. The varterral was gone. And then he remembered something else, and got frightened.   
“Mamae said I shouldn’t be alone with you.” he said in small voice, looking up. Papae was very tall.   
“It was necessary. I’m sorry for that.” papae said. “It took too long to win, but the voices are gone, now.”  
“You won?” Nuglet asked. He wanted to believe papae was telling the truth, but he wasn’t sure.   
“I imprisoned the voices upstairs, but there is a problem. They lied to your mother about something, and she has to know the truth before something happens to her.”, papae said seriously.   
“But mamae left already. She went to Denerim with Grey Wardens and the handholding man this morning. Mamae said she has to save something which is yours, because you were too sick.” Nuglet said helplessly.   
Papae knelt quickly on one knee, taking Nuglet’s hands in his.   
“The spell she is going to use is wrong. It will not work, because the voices in my mind lied to her, and she thought it was me. I have to warn her before it is too late, and I need your help to do that. I need your help to get out from here, so I can find mamae and save her.”  
“But how do I know it is really you? That you aren’t sick anymore?” Nuglet asked.  
“I promise you I’m telling the truth.” papae said, gently touching his cheek. “I would not ask this from you if there was other options. But if I linger, trying to convince Falon’Din and Solas and everyone else, it will take too long and I will lose Roshan’s trail. I have to leave now, and I need your help.”  
Nuglet didn’t know what to do.   
“But how can I tell?” he repeated helplessly.   
“Try to ask something from me. Something the voices would not know.” papae said kindly.  
Nuglet thought long and hard.   
“How did you start getting pocket money?” he offered.  
Papae’s eyes twinkled.   
“Excellent choice, da’len.” he said, and cupped Nuglet’s cheek with his hand. Nuglet felt soft, velvety touch of magic and then he saw it. It was like glass ball memories, but inside his own head. He could taste the still warm cinnamon roll on his tongue as he held a crumbled roll in his hand and pressed his small body against his mamae’s skirts. There was another small boy with him, and their mamae was scolding them, but Nuglet knew she had been frightened, too.   
“How can I help?” Nuglet asked, making up his mind.  
“The wards of this place are built to control my magic and the voices. But the wards are built upwards towards the sky and to follow the walls, not the ground below. They don’t recognize you. There is an old, loose tile on the floor of this room. If you can remove it, I can escape through the opening.” papae explained.   
“What will you do then?”  
“I will search for your mamae and then we both return to you. We all will go home.” papae said and kissed his brow.   
“I will help you.” Nuglet said, a childish trust lighting up his little face. The things papae said sounded so wonderful. They were all he had ever wanted. He pressed the palms of his hands against the stone floor, feeling it. The stone sang to him in deep voice which resonated inside his bones. The loose tile was easy to find because the mortar was much newer then in other places.   
“Close your eyes, da’len. Then focus your mind and imagine the floor in your mind, but with a hole.” papae explained, holding his hands on Nuglet’s shoulders. His touch felt reassuring.   
“Yes.”, Nuglet whispered, keeping his eyes tightly closed.   
“Now comes the hard part. You must force your vision to replace the floor which exists.” papae said. “Your will bends the reality. It all comes down to whether your want is stronger than the world around you. Focus on what you want, on the consequences your choice will have, and be confident. Then open your eyes and do it.”  
“But what if I can’t?” Nuglet was uncertain.  
“Of course you can. You are a child of an Evanuris. You might be young, but you are not helpless or powerless. You are intelligent and strong in magic, and if you do this, we all will be together. Everything will turn out well. Think of it, da’len. You and me and mamae. We will be very happy together, and you will never again feel as lonely as you have been.” papae’s voice was soft velvet in Nuglet’s ears.   
There was strange, melodic quality to his words. It was like magic, making Nuglet feel very brave. Like he could do anything. Nuglet pushed his palms harder against the floor, concentrated, and then released the spell.

 

When Vivienne ran to room, alerted by a sudden crash, she found Nuglet standing by the railing. The boy held a tiny varterral against his chest and smiled. There was a magical barrier erected between the child and the vast emptiness on other side of the room where the workstations used to be. The whole floor had collapsed inside the cave below, and there was no sign of anyone else.


	38. Falon'Din's happy ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Falon'Din has the best worst day ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for long absence. I got some nasty IRL stuff to deal with, and when I tried to come back to this, I noticed OneDrive had eaten my drafts for Wicked, so I have to work from scratch. This chapter is short, but I decided to publish it anyway to get me going.
> 
> I'm attempting to finish this fic first, likely within next 3 - 5 chapters, and then Elgarnan's story. The plot for Chains is ready, too, but the writing isn't. And there is Falon'Din rockstar modern AU bugging my brain...

_Recap: In last chapter, Nuglet broke disembodied Dirthamen out from Skyhold. Fragments of Emperor are still imprisoned there in Dirthamen's body, and they lied to Roshan, giving her a worm summoning spell to control Razikale. Roshan is going to Denerim with Solas and Darrion Tabris to fight a monster belonging to Ferelden human/Ghilan'nain's elvish faction to end a war. Falon'Din hates babysitting._

 

If there was one thing Falon'Din hated more than weepy dead, it was cleaning other people's messes. Especially when mess presented itself as a collapsed wall and escaped prisoner in Tarasyl'an Telas.  
“You are grounded!”, he roared at Nuglet who stood by broken wall.   
“But I only helped papae!”, his nephew insisted.  
“You have no idea what you have released! It could be the Emperor, you little horror!”  
Nuglet stared at him with frightened eyes.  
“But papae said to ask something the voices wouldn't know and he told me the baked roll story...”  
“It's not a proof!”, Falon'Din stomped his foot. Gods, he needed to smash something. Badly. “Those things have been inside his head for years! You can't be childish enough to believe they wouldn't know his every thought and memory! Dirth would not run from me without explanation!”  
Nuglet's lower lip started to tremble, and a look of very unhappy realization spread on his little face.  
“What is it?”, Falon'Din asked despite not wanting to.  
“He said he was going after mamae.”, Nuglet began to cry. “Uncle, I think I sent evil voices after mamae!”   
Falon'Din fisted his hands to keep himself from destroying rest of the Undercroft and roared:  
“You are even worse than your mother! For fuck's sake, Nuglet! You are grounded for one hundred years! No, for two thousand years, by Dread Wolf's hairy balls!”  
“Excuse me?”, a female voice said coolly behind his back, and Falon'Din whirled around to see the very person he had taken great pains to avoid.  
“The All-Mother has asked me to keep the prisoner inside Skyhold, and you need to continue your argument in another room so I can begin repairs.”, Vivienne informed him neutrally.  
There was nothing but neutral politeness in her face. The sweet sharpness of Viv's familiar cadences was gone, and her face was empty. There was dust in her hair. She had frizzly hair down to her shoulders, and Falon'Din thought his heart was going to break. Viv hated hair. She said it was common.  
“Do you remember what you said to me?”, he asked. “When you said that you can be anything as long as it is not meaningless?”  
“I recall saying many things to you, but most of them are not applicable to current circumstances.”, Vivienne informed him coolly. “I would prefer if you didn't ask me to repeat them, because even though I remember thinking I love you, I don't comprehend the feeling now. It would be a lie.”  
Falon'Din stared at her.  
“That's it.”, he said. “I've had enough.”  
He caught Vivienne by arm, gripping his fingers in her soft skin and reaching his magic through the hole in wards separating Skyhold from the world around it.  
“Let me go!”, Vivienne requested.  
“I tried to respect your opinions of spirits and possession, even though they are shemlen stupid.”, Falon'Din yelled, raising the palm of his hand. Green magic sparkled like a beacon, shooting from his hand up to the sky. “I tried to be a good man, but it is just shit! I will not watch you stand there like an empty shell of yourself, speaking about how love is a lie!”  
“It is not commonly acceptable to use curse words around minors.”, Vivienne informed him.   
“Oh, really?”, Falon'Din asked, raising his voice. “Let me give you a few more, then.”  
His trap of light had drawn first victim, and as he felt it getting tangled in his magic, he decided it would do. Gripping Vivienne tighter, Falon'Din pulled a Spirit of Ambition through the unravelling wards. He heard Nuglet's astonished gasp, but ignored the kid as he glared at Ambition in it's purple and gold glory.  
“Fix her.”, he commanded, thrusting Vivienne forwards.  
“No!”, Vivienne cried out. “I do not wish to feel --”  
Ambition took one look at Falon'Din's murderous expression and decided that while it did not much care about possessing old human body, not consenting to Falon'Din's request was suicidal. It swiftly changed it's form, turning into mist and flowing inside the woman.  
Vivienne gasped and her body jerked violently. Her eyes rolled up, and she would have fallen on the floor if not for Falon'Din's hold. Ambition left her, floating out.  
“Is it done?”  
“Of course.”, the spirit informed.   
“Uncle, you are mean! You hurt Auntie!”, Nuglet yelled, hitting Falon'Din's leg.   
Falon'Din held Vivienne in his arms and watched her lashes flutter. Tenderly, he brushed hair off her face, and Vivienne's eyes opened.  
Her features twisted in disgust, and her hand rose to touch her head.  
“Maker!”, she exclaimed. “This is just... no.”  
“I know.”, Falon'Din said, smirking. “Hair. So last season.”  
“You must swear you forget ever seeing me like this.”, Vivienne fixed her gaze at him.   
“Never.”, Falon'Din shook his head. “I've never seen a sweeter sight than you right now.”  
  
–

“I told you. You are grounded.”, Uncle said and pushed Nuglet inside nursery.  
“But I need to save mamae!”, Nuglet protested desperately.  
“You need to stay here so I can catch up with Viv.”, Uncle announced. “You have inherited your mother's ability to get in trouble. This is my happy ending, and I'm not going to let you or anyone else to distract me from it.”  
“But you said that the Emperor and ugly voices might--”, Nuglet wailed.  
“That is why we have hired help. Dorian and Solas can deal with it. I'm busy.”, Uncle said, pulling the door shut. Nuglet heard the lock click, and felt the wards activate.  
“You can't do this!”, he screamed, hitting the door with his little fists. “I need to save mamae and papae!”  
“Yes, yes. I will come to let you out in hundred years or so.”, Uncle said through the door.   
Nuglet heard his steps disappearing, and it sounded like Uncle was whistling as he walked.  
“Grandpa!”, he howled.  
  



End file.
